Ostriches
by RussianWolf7
Summary: Harry and the lot are back at Hogwarts for their final year, after the final battle. But Harry finds himself more ostracized than ever before, and finds an unlikely companion in Malfoy, also shunned. How will the others react to their friendship, and how long will it take the dense boys to realize they want more than that? Harry/Draco, canon Ron/Hermione, and Neville/OC.
1. Chapter 1: Back At Last

**Chapter One:**

_**Back at Last.**_

Harry stood on platform nine and three-quarters with Luna and Neville on one side and Ron, Hermione and Ginny on the right. He was staring ahead, resolutely ignoring the saccharine hand-holding on his right, the bitter girl on their other side, and his well-meaning but over-bearing friends on the left. They had arrived absurdly early, due to Hermione's ever-present nagging, and the train hadn't even pulled into the station yet.

"It's wonderful to be returning to Hogwarts, isn't it, Harry?" Luna asked, looking at him serenely.

"Oh, er, yes, I imagine it will be," he stammered, imagining no such thing. Before he had been The Boy Who Lived; now he was, as Rita Skeeter so eloquently put it, _The Boy Who Lived Twice: Hero of our generation, or of the entire history of wizarding?_ Harry had spent the summer hiding out at Grimmauld Place, sending Kreacher out on grocery runs and only venturing out when absolutely necessary. Ron and Hermione had insisted on visiting at the beginning of summer, but had slowly stopped coming as they realized how determined Harry was to live life as a hermit. Ginny hadn't been allowed over at all, resulting in a rather unclimactic end to their relationship. He hadn't owled anyone, other than to inform Hermione that yes, he was returning to Hogwarts, and yes, he would meet them at the Burrow that morning so they could apparate to the station together. He had hoped that the presence of their other friends, not to mention Ron's little sister, would mean Hermione and Ron wouldn't be all over each other, but it hadn't, and frankly Harry had found the whole morning rather sickening.

"You'll be alright," Neville said cheerfully. "After all, you must be used to the publicity by now, and I imagine you'll fly through our courses, given what you've been through." Harry made a non-committal noise, and was saved from a real answer by the Hogwarts Express pulling in with screeching breaks and a piercing whistle.

The five friends quickly boarded the train, Neville and Luna breaking off to sit with other members of the now defunct Dumbledore's Army, Ginny going to sit with other Gryffindors (though not before giving Harry a nasty glance), leaving Harry begrudgingly following Ron and Hermione into one of the empty compartments. He quickly saw there was no reason to rush; in the aftermath of the war, most of the Slytherins had chosen not to return, rendering the train emptier than Harry had ever seen it.

Ron and Hermione managed to disengage from just each other, including Harry in speculation of the coming year, how the N.E.W.T.S. would go, and who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be. The train's whistle blew again, and soon they were gliding quietly through the English countryside. Conversation remained easy, easier than it had been all summer, leaving Harry to wonder if he should have given his friends more credit, and spent more time at the Burrow instead of holed away with no one but a grouchy house elf to keep him company. Then the sweets trolley came and went, and Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and Harry knew he hadn't been wrong.

"Er, Harry," Ron started, a flush creeping up his neck. Hermione suddenly found something interesting to look at out the window.

"What?" Harry snapped, not bothering to check his temper. After a summer alone, he had gotten used to letting his emotions run rampant, as several now-destroyed rooms at Grimmauld Place could attest to.

Ron's flush deepened. "Well, Hermione and I were wondering if we could maybe, er, get some, ah, alone time?"

Harry glared at him. "Going to have a shag on the train, eh? How long have you been waiting to cross that one off your list? All summer? Or have you been imagining it since Hermione first burst in on us back in first year?"

Hermione turned away from the window and looked at Harry imploringly. "Please, Harry. It's nothing personal. And, well…" she trailed off, seeming to think the better of her words. But Harry was feeling cranky, and not particularly emotionally giving.

"Well what, Hermione?"

"It's just that, well…"

"If you hadn't been such a git to Ginny, you might be busy now yourself," Ron finished, not looking at Harry, face ears and neck all an alarming shade of scarlet.

"That's it," Harry proclaimed, standing up and enchanting his trunk to follow him. "Have your fun. See you later." He stormed out, hearing Hermione call weakly after him before slamming the door.

Finding an empty compartment was not as easy as Harry expected. True, there were fewer Slytherins, but there seemed to be double the amount of first-years as usual, and by the time Harry reached the end of the train, he had resigned himself to any empty seat, even if it meant a bunch of first-years ogling his scar and staring at him, star struck.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Harry muttered. The very last compartment on the left was empty, save for some luggage pushed into a corner. Harry slid his trunk into the corner and settled down by the window, prepared to relax, and maybe even snag a nap, for the rest of the long journey.

"Well, it's good to know I've perfected my Disappearing Draft," an all-too familiar voice drawled from the seat across from Harry. He jerked up, reaching for his wand and was met with a cool chuckle. "Relax, Potter, I'm not going to hex you. Hang on a minute." Still pointing his wand at the place he assumed contained Malfoy, he heard the rustling of clothes, the sound of a cork popping, and a swallow. Suddenly Malfoy appeared in front of him, hands raised in surrender. "Easy, Potter. I just wanted some peace and quiet."

Harry slowly lowered his wand and tucked it back into his robes. This was the first time he had seen Malfoy since he had left the final battle, and he didn't know what to say to him. Thankfully, Malfoy broke the silence.

"Would've thought you'd be sitting with Granger and the Weasel."

Harry didn't have enough good will to bother correcting Malfoy. "Got kicked out so they could have a shag," he muttered angrily. Malfoy raised a delicate eyebrow, and Harry glared at him. "Notice you're not overrun with admirers yourself."

Malfoy's eyes hardened. "I'm not too popular these days," he said curtly. "The Slytherins blame me for not staying to fight Voldemort, and the rest of you lot hate me for running away. Some year this'll be," he said, the last sentence barely a whisper.

Harry eyed Malfoy carefully. "Why did you leave?"

"Because Malfoys are just a bunch of cowardly snakes, didn't you know?" he replied bitingly. Then he sighed, and his shoulders sagged almost imperceptivity. "I don't know. It's complicated."

Harry didn't have a reply to that, and Malfoy didn't seem eager to elaborate. Silence stretched on, slowly becoming more comfortable. Harry leaned back, closing his eyes, realizing this was perhaps the first time the actually felt comfortable around Malfoy. Or at least didn't feel the need to keep his guard up.

"Suppose there'll be Quidditch this year?" Malfoy asked eventually.

Harry started. Of all the possibilities of how this year would play out, Quidditch had never occurred to him. "I dunno."

Malfoy's look changed from uncharacteristically pensive to a much more familiar contempt. "I certainly hope so. It's high time I beat you. Again," he added, voice dripping with gleeful disdain.

"Again?" Harry flustered. "I seem to remember it differently. Gryffindor won sixth year, if you recall."

"Gryffindor, perhaps," Malfoy drawled, "but I seem to remember a certain star seeker stuck in detention for the final match."

Harry glared at him. "If you can't even get a seat-mate on the train, I can hardly see you being welcomed back on your team."

Malfoy looked as though he had been slapped. "Shut it," he snapped. "I could beat you one on one any day."

"Oh yeah?" Harry challenged, taking an odd comfort in the familiar rivalry. "Any time, any day. Name it and I'll be there."

Malfoy opened his mouth, perhaps to set a date, when the train slowed to a stop. Harry glanced out the window. They were there already?

"Stop gawping and hurry up. I'd _hate_ to see you get into trouble your first day back," Malfoy sneered, expertly levitating his trunk down from the shelf. "Imagine the headline: _The Boy Who Lived Twice Can't Even Be Bothered To Make It To His Own Feast On Time_."

"It's not my bloody feast," Harry grumbled, following Malfoy out of the train and over to the Thestral-drawn carriages. Malfoy climbed into the nearest carriage, and Harry surprised himself by joining him. "This your first time seeing the Thestrals?" Harry asked, looking around at the shocked expressions of his classmates.

"No," Malfoy said curtly, and Harry turned to see the pinched look on his face before it quickly returned to his usual look of contempt. "Not that it's any of your business."

It took longer than usual to get going, no doubt due to the shock of the Thestrals and the need for the few students who already knew about them to explain. Harry and Malfoy spent the ride to the castle in near silence, breaking into conversation only when they rounded a corner and saw the castle for the first time.

"It looks perfect," Harry breathed. "Like nothing ever happened."

"What did you expect? That they'd leave it ruins?" Malfoy replied, but he, too, sounded subdued. Harry wondered if he was feeling guilty that he and his people had been responsible, but he quickly shook the thought from his head. Malfoy was hardly the type to feel guilt.

They separated without a word as soon as they arrived at the castle steps. Harry was almost immediately accosted by Ron and Hermione.

"Is it true you sat with Malfoy?" Ron demanded as they walked up the steps.

"You didn't leave me much choice," Harry threw back. Somehow it didn't seem right to say it hadn't actually been that bad, and that Malfoy might be human after all.

"Well, I think it's spectacular," Hermione said. "With the war over, we should be focusing on uniting the wizarding world."

Ron looked at her as if she had grown three heads. "Are you mad?" he sputtered. "Don't you remember all the things he did?"

Harry tuned them out as they entered the castle, and the Great Hall. Everything looked exactly how it used to, yet Harry couldn't help feeling that something great and terrible hung in the air, and in the very stones of the walls themselves. Harry settled down at the Gryffindor table, trying not to think about all the missing faces. It was most evident at the Slytherin table, of course. Malfoy sat by himself, Harry was unsurprised to see, but the only other faces he recognized were those of Pansy, Goyle and Zabini; only four students left in their year.

Ron waved a hand in front of Harry's face. "Hello, earth to Harry. What're you doing staring at the Slytherin table?"

Harry was jolted out of his thoughts. "Nothing, sorry. Just zoning out, I guess."

"Well you better pay attention, the Sorting's about to start," Hermione said.

Harry had been right; there were more first-years than normal. And he could swear that…"There is no way that girl is eleven," Harry said, staring as "Jones, Aurora" stepped onto the platform and was declared a Hufflepuff.

Hermione heaved a great sigh. "Weren't you paying attention, Harry? Given our—" she paused, searching for a word that didn't sound too fatalistic—"somewhat diminished numbers, for the next few years Hogwarts will be accepting students from other countries, as well as other wizarding schools. Muggles call it studying abroad."

"Oh," Harry said stupidly.

The unusually empty tables slowly began to fill up, including Slytherin, though their numbers remained smaller than any other house. Harry half-listened as McGonagall introduced the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—a middle-aged witch named Whisp—and zoned out completely as she went over the school rules, instead finding his eyes drawn to Malfoy, who was still sitting alone. Apparently his reputation had preceded him. Still, he sat tall and proud, eyes fixed at a point somewhere just above McGonagall's head, eyes looking glazed over. Then suddenly his head snapped around, ice grey eyes locking with Harry's. Harry couldn't read his expression at all, and it only lasted a moment before the room burst into applause and food appeared on the table. Suddenly ravenous, Harry dug in with gusto. He hadn't realized how poorly he had been eating over the summer, and it was good to know some things about Hogwarts never changed.

After the feast, Neville, who seemed just as surprised as everyone else to be Head Boy, lead the Gryffindors up to the tower, and letting them in with the current password: _lemon drop_. Harry's heart clenched; it was clearly meant as a tribute to Dumbledore, but it just made his overly-full stomach turn. After a quick check of the eight-year dorms (same as they had always been, of course), he joined Ron and Hermione by the fireplace, watching as the two played an inaugural game of wizard chess. After Hermione's queen took a particularly nasty headshot from one of Ron's bishops, she turned to Harry, and asked,

"So, did Malfoy say anything interesting on the train?"

Harry's stomach did another flip. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she was asking about it, whatever she had said about wizard camaraderie before. "Er, no, not really," he replied, staring into the fireplace. "Asked if there was going to be Quidditch this year."

Ron stopped suddenly, leaving his bishop to finish demolishing Hermione's queen. "Quidditch! Blimey, that never occurred to me."

"Yeah, me neither," Harry said.

Hermione frowned at the chess game as her queen was once and for all dragged off to the side. "Ron, I hardly see the point in finishing this."

But the glint in Ron's eye told her that he wasn't going to let her off that easy. "Come on, 'Mione. I promise I'll make it quick and painless."

She made a face at him, but continued. "So why wasn't he sitting with his friends?"

Harry sighed. He thought about telling her what Malfoy had said, but he had an odd feeling it was told to him in confidence, and it seemed too much like something the other boy would do, to go around blurting secrets in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. "Didn't mention it," Harry muttered. "Probably just fancied a nap."

They fell into silence again, the only sounds being the utter annihilation of Hermione's chess pieces at the hands of Ron. Harry kept his eyes on the fireplace, knowing that Ginny was on the other side of the common room and resolutely not looking at her. They hadn't exactly broken up, not properly. He just hadn't responded to any of her owls, or visited her, or allowed her in his house. Despite the lack of response, Hermione had still written him weekly all summer, but she skirted around the issue of Ginny with a simple, "Ginny seems well," or "Ginny's off visiting friends this week". Harry supposed they'd need to have a talk sometime soon, but right now all he wanted to do was doze in front of the fireplace and try to readjust to having other people around.

A sudden shout of victory broke him out of his repose, and Harry glanced over to see Ron's queen bashing in the head of Hermione's king.

"Well done, Ron, you've proved once again you're the best chess player Hogwarts has ever seen," Hermione said stiffly. "Come on, let's go to bed."

Harry stared blankly at him. "You two are sharing quarters?" he asked bluntly. "Cause you're certainly not sleeping together in my room."

Hermione glared at him. "Yes, Harry, we have our own room. Professor McGonagall gave us special permission, seeing as we're eighth-years, and should have graduated already. Your innocence will remain intact." She took Ron by the hand and led him over to a portrait Harry hadn't noticed before. Rather than uttering a password, she simply swept it aside, revealing a staircase.

"See you for breakfast," Ron said over his shoulder before the portrait swung shut.

Harry sighed. He supposed he should be getting to bed himself, especially as he could see Ginny noticing that he was alone, and starting to approach him. He hurried up the steps to his room, closing the door behind him and collapsing onto his bed.

"Long day, Harry?" Neville asked from the next bed over.

"Yeah," he said shortly, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. He should have noticed earlier that there was one less bed than there used to be. As annoyed as he was with Ron, the room seemed empty without him, and Harry found himself, for about the millionth time, wishing for simpler times.

"At least there's no Dark Lord that needs defeating," Neville said brightly. "We might even be able to have a normal school year."

Somehow, Harry doubted it.

11


	2. Chapter 2: Hallelujah What Now?

**A/N:** Chapter two ahoy! Again, I own nothing, just the love in my heart for those two damned stubborn boys. Next up: a fight with Ginny, Quidditch and the perpetual awkwardness of two oblivious boys falling in love with each other. I should have a new chapter up sometime tomorrow, but then again I'm going for an overnight visit, so I might not be able to publish until Thursday. In any case, enjoy!

**Chapter Two:**

_**Hallelujah What Now?**_

Harry found himself being woken up for breakfast far earlier than he would've liked. He hadn't realized how bad his sleep schedule had gotten until he saw that it was nearly four in the morning, and he was still staring at the ceiling, head crowded with thoughts of the last time he had been here. His primary objective over the summer had been to think as little about the previous year as possible, but now that he was back at Hogwarts, the memories kept flooding back, whether or not he wanted them to. Why had he even bothered returning at all? That was the real question keeping him up. The Ministry had offered him a job over the summer as a junior auror. He didn't need to get his N.E.W.T.s; he had proved himself already. So why come back?

Harry rolled over, and heard the quiet sound of sniffling coming from Neville's bed. Harry's heart dropped; of course he wasn't the only one with memories from the last year. Neville had killed a Horcrux after all, even if he hadn't known what it was, and that speech he had made when everyone thought Harry dead…No, Harry realized, he was not the only one kept up late, and that was why he was here; these were his friends, his family, his home.

Harry was feeling much less charitable, however, when Hermione and a sleeping-looking Ron burst into his room, seemingly minutes after he had finally fallen asleep.

"Wake up, Harry! It's breakfast, then double potions! Wouldn't want to be late for that, now would you?"

_Yes,_ Harry thought. _I very well would._ What on earth about the words "double potions" did Hermione think would inspire Harry to get out of bed? He groaned and rolled over, intent on sleeping until at least noon. Neville had been right; he had learned everything he needed to know already, and could probably pass the N.E.W.T.s with flying colors in his sleep.

_Except maybe potions_, Harry thought rather bitterly to himself.

"Why'd they schedule potions first thing?" Harry muttered into his pillow.

"No doubt just to annoy you," Hermione said, still sounding cheerful. "Come up! Up and at 'em!"

Harry opened one eye to look at Ron, who shrugged. "Better not to fight it, mate."

Harry let out a huge sigh and pried himself out of bed, soon finding himself walking down to the Great Hall with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean and Seamus, feeling almost normal. Yes, this was why he was here—to heal, to leave with good memories.

Halfway down the last flight of stairs, an owl swooped in out of nowhere and nearly collided with his head, causing Ron and Neville to grab onto him to prevent him from falling down the stairs, while Hermione attempted to untie the note from its leg and Dean and Seamus stood there unhelpfully, nearly falling over themselves with laughter.

"Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into this bird," Hermione said as she untangled it from Harry's hair and convinced it to sit still on her arm.

"Bloody thing's mental," Harry said angrily, trying to smooth his hair.

"What's the note say?" Ron asked and both he and Neville let go of Harry.

Hermione unrolled the parchment and stared at it in confusion. "Outside the posts at seven," she said. The owl immediately snatched the note back and flew away, leaving Harry to glare after it. "That's odd," Hermione said, though whether she was talking about the note or the bird's behavior was unclear.

"Well it flew into Harry's head, so it must be for him," Ron reasoned, resuming their walk to the Great Hall. "Got any idea, mate?"

Harry did, in fact, have a very good idea, but he shook his head. "Must be someone's idea of a joke."

Hermione's brows knit together in worry. "I don't like the idea of someone sending you cryptic notes in the middle of the castle."

"Oh, Hermione, relax," Harry said good-naturedly, the owl attack nearly forgotten in his excitement to play Quidditch that evening. "I'm sure it's nothing. I got loads of weird stuff in the post over the summer. I had to have Kreacher sort through it for me."

Harry's words had been well chosen, and by the time they sat down, Hermione was well absorbed in reprimanding Harry for having a house elf, never mind letting him sort through potentially dangerous mail. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, and suddenly Hermione's tirade was directed at him and his disregard for any and all creatures below wizard status.

"Hey, Harry," Neville said quietly, distracting him from the bickering couple.

"What's up?" Harry asked, pouring himself a steaming mug of coffee in an effort to make up for his lack of sleep.

"See that girl over there, at the Hufflepuff table?" Neville asked, gesturing vaguely. "She's sitting next to Hannah?"

Harry looked at the table. A girl with long, dark curly hair who was perhaps a year or two younger than them sat next to Hannah Abbot, happily chatting away as she ate a pancake. She looked vaguely familiar, but Harry couldn't place her. "Yeah, why? Who is she?"

Neville blushed a little. "Her name's Aurora, and she's from Barnstable Academy, in the United States. Hannah introduced us on the train. Apparently she's interested in herbology."

"Oh, I see," Harry said, not really seeing at all.

"She said she's from Wisconsin," Neville continued. "Any idea where that is?"

"Not a clue, mate," Harry said, suddenly distracted. Malfoy strutted into the Great Hall, alone as always, and sat down at the far end of the Slytherin table. He pulled out a book and started idly flipping through the pages while bewitching a teapot to pour him a mug and summoning over a plate of pancakes. He refused to look up from his book, despite—and no doubt because of—Harry's attempts to make eye contact.

"Harry!" Neville said loudly, nearly causing Harry to jump. "Did you hear anything I said?"

"I—"

"Course not," Ron said through a mouthful of toast, cutting off both Hermione and Harry. "He's much too busy with his newfound obsession of staring at the Slytherin table. Really, Harry, what's gotten into you?"

Harry again started to answer when he was interrupted by two girls, each looking a good three or four years younger than him.

"You are ze Harry Potter, yes?" one of them asked with a thick French accent.

"Uh…" Harry stuttered.

"Yeah, he certainly is," Seamus said with a glint in his eye, clearly eager to see where this was going.

The girls giggled, and the one who addressed him held out an old, battered copy of _The Daily Prophet_. It was from earlier in the summer, just after he had defeated Voldemort. **WE'VE WON, **the headline stated simply, but the picture below was of just Harry, the rest of the army mysteriously absent from the frame. The Harry in the photograph looked just as uncomfortable as the real Harry felt.

"Would you sign this, please?" the girl asked. Harry noticed with an inward groan that she was wearing Gryffindor colors.

"I…uh…" Harry stammered. He wasn't surprised; he had, after all, spent the summer hiding out specifically to avoid this sort of thing, but he hadn't fully woken up yet despite the coffee, nor had he recovered from the shock of an owl flying into his hair, and certainly not the excitement brewing in his stomach for the match tonight with Malfoy.

"Oh, go on, then," Seamus urged, clearly suppressing laughter. "Be a man and sign the girl's paper."

"He most certainly will not," Hermione interrupted sternly. Harry began to think he'd never be able to answer for himself, though he found he didn't mind as much as he ought to. "He's already about to be late for his first class of the year. Come on, Harry. Ron, you too," she said, pulling them both by the arm. They both started to protest, Ron still with eggs in his mouth, but Hermione gave him a firm look. "If you hadn't taken so long to get out of bed, you'd have had more time for breakfast.

"Yeah, well," Ron sputtered, still trying to swallow the eggs, "if you hadn't—" Hermione cut him off with a death glare, and Harry flushed. He could only imagine what Hermione had been doing to distract Ron. He retrieved his arm and fell back a few paces to walk with Neville.

"Guess being famous is something you never get used to," Neville said sympathetically. "I got a few interviews after killing that snake, but nothing like you."

Harry shook his head. "All I want this year is some peace and quiet, but no…" he trailed off as he saw Ginny and a pack of seventh-years walk into the potions room. "What're they doing here?" Harry hissed, pulling on Neville's arm, preventing them from entering the room.

"Well, we're all at the same level now, aren't we?" Neville said. "School was a joke last year. Why, what's wrong?"

"If Ginny doesn't have a partner, you have to sit with her," Harry pleaded.

Neville raised his eyebrows. "Did you two break up?"

"Uh, yeah, basically," Harry evaded. "Please?"

"Sure, no problem," Neville said, and they entered the room together. As Harry had expected, Ginny had left the seat next to her open, certainly for him. But Neville took his place, and Harry sulked past a fuming Ginny to the last row of benches. He let out a tremendous sigh; he had successfully avoided Ginny for now, but how long could that possibly last? And, Harry thought, looking around the classroom and really registering for the first time that he was in potions, how desperately would Slughorn want to "collect" him now that he had defeated Voldemort not once, but twice? Harry put his head down on the desk and waited for the end of the class that hadn't even begun yet.

"I see you're wide awake this fine morning," Malfoy drawled, suddenly appearing next to Harry and elegantly depositing himself into the empty seat next to him.

"What're you doing here?" Harry grumbled, not bothering to lift his head but only turning it so he could glare at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye.

"I figured we'd both be happier without partners, but given the influx of seventh-years, solitude would seem to be unattainable. We might as well agree to mutually ignoring each other, rather than you risking another run in with your fan club."

Malfoy had seen that? Harry flushed. "Fine," he muttered, turning away.

Slughorn appeared a few moments later, and after a brief introduction, had them warm up with a simple Singing Solution.

Neville, as it turned out, had been entirely wrong; Harry was most certainly _not_ going to fly through potions, especially if this was supposed to be an easy one. Harry thought back to the last time he had brewed a potion and quickly realized it wasn't exactly a priority while searching for the Horcruxes the previous year. He hadn't even bothered once. Harry stared hopelessly as his potion turned orange and began to bubble with loud, dissonant chords. Malfoy's, on the other hand, was a pale pink, and just barely simmering melodically around the edges.

Malfoy looked at Harry's expression, then at his potion, and smirked. "Added a touch too many bat eyes, did you?"

Harry glared at him. "So what if I did? More eyes just means more singing," he said, both boys knowing that was utter bollocks.

Malfoy heaved a great sigh. "First turn down your cauldron before the damned thing explodes," he said, reaching over and doing it himself before Harry had a chance to even touch it. "Then, in order to counteract the bat eyes, add some finely chopped holly root—_chopped_, Potter, not mangled. Now stir slowly." Malfoy smiled triumphantly. "There. That wasn't so hard, now was it, Potty?"

Harry bristled at the old nickname, but it really did seem that his potion was fixed. The tiny bubbles on the side were now in tune, and—though Harry expected his hearing had gone daft—seemed to be in harmony with Malfoy's potion. "Why'd you do that?" Harry asked, leaning back, afraid to touch his rescued potion.

"So when I beat you at Quidditch tonight, you can't delude yourself into thinking there's anything I'm not better at."

About that…Harry sat up, anger rushing to fill the place where relief had been. "Why'd you send an owl to attack me?" he asked angrily. "I almost fell down the stairs!"

Malfoy chuckled. "Oh, Capry? He's just one excited little bird, that's all. Couldn't even wait for you to get to the Great Hall, eh? And you nearly fell down the stairs?" Malfoy mused. "Shame. That would've been an easy win."

Harry opened his mouth to retort when Slughorn appeared in front of them. "What beautiful potions, boys! Not that I'd expect anything less from you two," he said with a wink. "Care to give them a try?"

Harry began to stammer out an excuse, but Malfoy gave Slughorn a simpering smile and said, "I'd be glad to."

"Wonderful, wonderful! Class, stop what you're doing and listen to young Draco here demonstrate what a properly brewed Singing Solution sounds like." The class quieted as Malfoy calmed ladled out a small portion, and downed it. He waited a moment, stood, then opened his mouth and began to sing.

Harry's jaw dropped. Malfoy was singing the Hallelujah Chorus. All of it. Every part. At once. Harry had only known the music from being dragged to the Dursley's church on Christmas Eve, but their choir couldn't hold a candle to the music pouring from Malfoy's mouth. Every hair on his body stood at attention, and Harry couldn't look away any more than he could close his mouth.

After what seemed like hours, Malfoy finished, smiled triumphantly, took a small bow and sat back down. There was a moment of silence, and then the dungeon burst into applause, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike.

"Splendid!" Slughorn gushed. "Absolutely astonishing! Fifty points to Slytherin!" He walked away, still talking under his breath about how that had been the best Singing Solution he had ever heard, even better than Rose Baudelaire's, and that had been goodness knows how many years ago…

Malfoy's ever present smirk returned. "And that, Potter, is how you do it." He cleaned his workspace with a sweep of his wand and left, Harry still dumbfounded.

Harry was still sitting, staring at his own potion, which was starting to bubble again, when Hermione came to collect him.

"I never thought I'd see the day where you'd rather sit next to Malfoy than Ginny," she said. "And you really ought to apologize to Neville. He spent the entire class being berated by Ginny for merely existing, rendering his potion utterly undrinkable. Yours doesn't look too bad; just a bit overcooked, and in need of a good stir." Hermione stopped and took a breath. "Are you alright Harry? You look flushed."

"I'm fine," Harry mumbled, quickly cleaning up and following Hermione out of the dungeon, Ron joining them at the door. "What've we got next?" he asked. _Anything, so long as it's not with the Slytherins_, Harry pleaded silently.

"Muggle Studies, with the Hufflepuffs," Hermione answered, leading them upstairs.

_Thank Merlin_, Harry thought.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look Harry barely noticed. "You know, Harry," Hermione began hesitantly, "you really ought to talk to Ginny."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get right on that," Harry replied, not listening. He was still stuck on how incredible Malfoy had sounded, and how, what was the word, serene he had looked as he sang.

"Harry, really," Ron said, interrupting his thoughts. "I've been cutting you slack, given all you've been through, but she's my sister, and I can't have you treat her like this much longer."

"I said I'll do it," Harry snapped. Ron and Hermione exchanged another look, but they had arrived at their classroom, and conversation was cut short as they sat down, preparing for their first Binns lecture of the year. Harry yawned already, a clear sign of just how boring the class would be.


	3. Chapter 3: Breaking Heads and Breaking

**A/N: **Here I am, posting from the Cape! Yesterday I went on a writing binge and now I have a buffer of chapters I can post when I'm busy doing things like lying on the beach and staying up all night giggling over cute boys and My Little Pony.

And thanks for all the reviews, guys! I'd forgotten how much I love them, and how happy they make me. You're all so awesome :D

**Chapter Three:**

_**Breaking Hearts and Breaking Heads**_

The rest of the day, unfortunately, went about as expected. Muggle Studies was as dreadfully boring—and useless, seeing as he was raised a Muggle himself—as he remembered, he was ignored at lunch by Ron and Hermione, who apparently thought the two classes they had been through without physically touching was some kind of torture. Neville was busy stealing furtive glances at the Hufflepuff table. Ginny, of course, was seating as far away from him as possible, surrounded by a protective circle of Gryffindors. Harry was left with nothing to do but stare at Malfoy, which was hardly a joy. Harry was still having trouble reckoning the music he had heard with the boy who had made his life a living hell for the past seven years, not to mention the confusion over Malfoy helping him with his potion; his excuse really hadn't made any sense. If Malfoy had wanted to thoroughly humiliate him, he should've just let him fail, shouldn't he have? And Ron had had a point at breakfast—Harry's new habit of staring at the Slytherin table was not a healthy one, and was sure to be noticed by all the wrong people.

Harry didn't have any classes after lunch, but that proved to be almost worse. Sitting in the common room, an activity that had previously been calming, was now a maze of avoiding star-struck first-years and foreign students, keeping a constant eye out for Ginny, who he still wasn't ready to talk to, and staring moodily at the portrait that contained Ron and Hermione's room. If they were really going to spend all year holed up by themselves, Harry thought he would go crazy. Even if he had avoided them all summer, they were his best friends, and he had hoped being back at Hogwarts would reunite them, but apparently not.

They did, however, appear in the common room in time for dinner, though Ron's shirt was untucked and Hermione's hair was messier than Harry had seen it in years. Harry glared at them. "Taking a break for sustenance, eh?" he jabbed, though he did follow them through the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall.

"Oh, shove off, Harry," Ron replied, though his tone was light. "You'll understand when you're old enough."

Harry ground his teeth together as Ron and Hermione shared a laugh at what apparently passed for a joke. He made sure to sit between the couple at dinner, a mildly successful attempt at including him in their conversation. Harry kept one eye on Malfoy; if he was going to sneak off early to tamper with the Quidditch field, Harry would be the first to know. Malfoy caught him staring more than once, and responded with a self-important smirk every time. He finally got up, a good fifteen minutes before seven, and Harry immediately stood, upsetting his glass of pumpkin juice as he did so.

Ron and Hermione stared up at him. "What's got your panties in a bunch?" Ron asked, mouth full of food, as always.

"Nothing, there's just somewhere I've got to be," Harry said, keeping a close eye on Malfoy as he sauntered out of the Hall.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It's nearly seven. Harry, you did know what that note meant."

"Not a clue," Harry replied without a thought. Malfoy had just disappeared out the doors, and if Harry wanted to follow him, now was the time to do it. "I just gotta go, er, study. See you later," he said half-coherently and sped out of the Hall, hoping he hadn't missed his chance and lost Malfoy to the maze that was Hogwarts Castle.

In his hurry, Harry ran full-force into another student as he exited the Hall, nearly knocking them both over. He was preparing some sort of excuse to Malfoy as to why he was following him, but his heart twisted when he saw it was Ginny he had collided with, not Malfoy, who he could just see disappearing down the staircase that led to the dungeons.

"Harry," Ginny said coolly, trying to meet his eyes, which were directed over her shoulder, trying to figure out how to escape the conversation in time to catch up to Malfoy.

"Ginny, hey," he said lamely. "Listen, I've really got to—"

Ginny grabbed his face and turned it to hers. "No. You've done enough avoiding to last a lifetime. We're going to have this conversation, and we're going to have it now."

Since when had Ginny gotten so demanding? Harry wondered as he was forcibly led down the hallway to an empty classroom, and pushed inside.

"Well?" Ginny asked harshly, hands on her hips.

Harry, officially giving up on finding Malfoy and, resigning himself to whatever mischief he was up to, let out a sigh. "Well what?" he asked moodily.

"Where have you been?" Ginny exploded, the typical Weasley flush creeping up her neck and staining her otherwise pale face a bright red. "Why didn't you visit? Or at least write to me? Maybe a hello when you showed up at my house to apparate to King's Cross? What have I done to deserve this?" Harry realized she was on the verge of tears, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. He had no excuse, just self-pity, and telling Ginny that now would just make matters worse.

"Gin, you didn't do anything," Harry said softly, not meeting her eye. "It's me. I didn't see anyone over break, barely even left Grimmauld Place. It was just too…too…"

Ginny's expression softened at his stammering, and she rested her hands on his shoulders, a much less hostile act than grabbing his face. "I can't possibly understand what you've been through," she said quietly. "But you're not the only one who lost someone, the only one who fought, and you're not alone." She leaned in for a kiss, and Harry turned his head away. Ginny sighed in frustration. "Why can't you let me in?"

Harry briefly wondered what time it was, and what Malfoy would do to him if he was late to their match. "Ginny, please…"

There was a pause, and then Ginny said very carefully, "If you want to break up with me, just do it." Harry didn't answer right away, but that seemed enough for her. She sighed again, and Harry knew well enough that she was holding back tears. "Fine. See what pushing everyone away gets you," she said roughly, letting her hands fall from his shoulder. "Only don't come crying to me when you've got no one left." She closed the door quietly behind herself, leaving Harry to stare at the floor. He hadn't felt good about what just happened, but he couldn't deny the relief he felt at not dating Ginny anymore. He still didn't know why, but there was no point in stringing either of them along any further when he knew there was no way they were getting back together.

Harry snapped back to himself. The match with Malfoy. That was what he should be focusing on right now, not his ruined relationship. He hurried out of the classroom and was nearly out the front doors before he realized he'd need his Quidditch robes. It might only be the second day of September, but it was unseasonably cold, and he didn't fancy flying around in just a jumper and trousers. He all but sprinted up to his room, then all the way back down to the front doors, and by the time he arrived at the Quidditch pitch, he was already panting and out of breath.

"I see you've kept in shape," Malfoy sneered, appearing out of the shadows, already dressed impeccably in his own green and silver robes and holding his broom.

"Shut…it," Harry gasped out. Malfoy waited patiently for him to catch his breath. "I need to change," Harry said once he could speak properly. "And get my broom. Be out in five." He disappeared into the Gryffindor locker room and came out a few minutes later, his broom feeling unfamiliar in his hands. He realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn't flown all summer, while Malfoy no doubt had been practicing every day.

Malfoy noticed the look of apprehension on his face, and smirked. "Having second thoughts, Potter?"

"In your dreams," Harry snapped. "Did you get the snitch?"

"It's out there," Malfoy said, gesturing at the field. "Ready?" Malfoy started to mount his broom, when Harry grabbed his arm.

"Wait. What're the stakes?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Stakes? I would've settled for bragging rights, but if you want to up the ante, I'm game. What did you have in mind?"

Harry's mind went blank. He hadn't actually thought about it before, the words had been out of his mouth before he realized he was talking. Apparently he really did have a need to make everything as difficult as possible. "If I win, you have to be my potions partner for the rest of the year," Harry said decisively. "If I'm going to take the bloody N.E.W.T.s, I ought to at least pass them."

Malfoy smirked. "It's sad that you think you can't pass without my help, but alright. And if I win?"

Harry didn't have a clue. "What do you want?"

Malfoy's smirk widened. "What do I want from you, Harry Potter?" Harry's insides squirmed as he realized that may not have been the best way to phrase the question. "Hmm…" Malfoy continued to smile an impenetrable smile. "When I win," he said slowly, placing careful emphasis on the first word, "I want you to tell me your deepest, darkest secret."

Harry stared at him. That was what he wanted? "Alright, fine," Harry said, not even knowing what he would say if Malfoy were to win. "Let's go."

"Already gone!" Malfoy said, quickly mounting his broom the rest of the way and shooting up into the sky. Harry, cursing the whole time, awkwardly mounted his old Firebolt and kicked off. As soon as he felt the wind in his hair, he knew he hadn't forgotten how to fly. He let out a whoop of joy, momentarily forgetting Malfoy was nearby, and rose as high as he could, not bothering to search for the snitch yet, just glorifying at being in the air again. The way the wind blew his hair back, biting even through his thick robes, the way the castle looked so small from up here—it all came rushing back, and Harry's anger and frustration at the day melted away.

"Showing off, Potter?" Malfoy yelled up from below him.

Harry ignored him, doing a series of flips, rolls, and even flying upside down for a moment or two. Maybe it did look like he was showing off, but he couldn't be bothered to care.

Malfoy was suddenly at his side, flying no more than two inches away, a daredevil look in his eyes. "You think you can outfly me, do you?"

Harry laughed for the first time in what felt like years. "You've got nothing on me, Malfoy," he said, starting to speed up.

Malfoy kept pace, keeping his broom level with Harry's even as he corkscrewed through the air. "You could never outfly me," he said, and Harry saw that his usual smirk was being replaced by what seemed almost like a genuine smile. Did Malfoy love flying as much as he did? It didn't seem possible.

"Oh yeah?" Harry challenged, changing course and again flying as high as he could. Malfoy rose halfway with him, then his eyes flicked to the side, and he took off towards the other side of the Quidditch field. "Shit!" Harry cursed, descending and racing after Malfoy, who must've seen the snitch. By the time Harry arrived where Malfoy was hovering by the goal post, he was laughing, and Harry realized he had been tricked.

"Didn't know you were _that_ gullible," Malfoy said, flying in a lazy circle around him. "Thought you had a _bit_ more up there," he said, sharply tapping Harry's head.

Harry batted his hand away angrily. "You were just afraid you couldn't keep up with me," Harry baited.

"As if," Malfoy said, joyful mirth sparkling in his eyes. "So what, Potter? Are we going to play Quidditch or just sit here insulting each other all night?"

Without a word, Harry sped away, now focused completely on the game. His eyes raked the field, searching for the tiny gold fleck in the darkening twilight. He was vaguely aware of Malfoy circling a couple dozen feet above him, but with the teasing over, Harry didn't care. Every fiber of his being was focused on finding the snitch first, regardless of whom he was flying against. Hell, he could be out here on his own and he wouldn't be any less intent. If it weren't for all the pressure for him to become an auror, he could easily see himself spending the rest of his life playing Quidditch.

"I saw Granger and the Weasel ignoring you at lunch!" Malfoy shouted down, no doubt trying to distract him.

"At least I have mates to sit with," Harry tossed out, barely paying attention to his words. Was that, at the other side of the field…? He took off after the glint, but if it had been anything it was gone by the time he got there. He resumed circling the pitch, flying up so he was at about the same height as Malfoy, though they were at opposite ends of the field. He saw Malfoy suddenly dart upwards, and after a split second spent considering whether or not he was being played again Harry took after him, the two nearly colliding in the middle of the field as they continued their ascent.

"Bugger off!" Malfoy snapped, shoving an elbow into Harry's side, though he still kept his eyes fixed on a point Harry was frantically searching for.

"Oh right, I'll just hop off my broom and let you win," Harry snapped, slamming into Malfoy in a half-hearted attempt to knock him from his broom, or at least gain some time while he searched for the blasted snitch.

"Like you even know where it is," Malfoy spat back, jerking to the left and urging his broom even faster. Harry stayed at his side, the two boys angrily jostling each other as they searched for something only one of them could see. Then, suddenly, Harry's eyes focused on just the right spot; the snitch was down and to the right, and in his haste to reach it before Malfoy, he forgot about his opponent, and his sudden descent put his forehead in direct contact with the end of Malfoy's broom.

"Bloody hell!" Harry yelled, swerving off to the left, hand going up to feel his forehead. Yes, there was a lump forming, and a small trickle of blood flowing down, into his eye. He swiped it away angrily as Malfoy laughed.

"That's some fancy flying there, Potter," Malfoy said cheerfully. Though Harry could see the collision had thrown him off course as well, and the snitch had once again disappeared. Harry angrily resumed circling the field, quickly realizing that if he didn't finish this soon, there was no way he was going to win. The throbbing headache he could deal with, but the blood was flowing more freely now, and there wasn't much he could do to keep it from obscuring his vision. He searched frantically, trying to ignore the red haze forming over his vision. And just when he thought all was lost, there! About twenty yards to his left, and flying in his direction! Harry's world shrunk to the size of him and the snitch, not even aware if Malfoy had spotted it or not. Leaning forward, one hand reaching out for the snitch and one trying to grip his broom despite being slick with blood, he careened towards it. And then—yes! His hand closed around the snitch, and a familiar happiness surged through Harry. He looked around to find Malfoy, to tell him he had won, when his hand slipped, and suddenly he rolled over, hanging onto his broom by only his legs.

_Why does this always bloody happen to me?_ Harry thought angrily, attempting to right himself. He got his free hand wrapped around the broom all right, but he couldn't generate enough friction to pull himself up. Not to mention the fact that he could barely see; somehow, even though he was hanging upside-down, blood still managed to flow into his eyes, and now that the chase was over and he could think again, he realized that it wasn't just obscuring his vision, but stinging like hell.

_Bloody hell_, Harry thought once again, and began the arduous process of carefully lowering his broomstick while hanging upside-down and without releasing the snitch. Eventually he bumped against solid ground, sending a shooting pain through his head. He moaned, unwrapping his legs from his broom, and merely lay on his back with his eyes closed for a minute, waiting for the pain to subside.

"You alive down there, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice sounding closer as Harry assumed he was flying over. Harry raised the arm with the snitch and waved it around in the air, his eyes still closed.

"Looks like you're my new potions partner!" Harry declared, noting with pleasure that, no matter how badly his head felt, his voice was still strong and full of fight.

Malfoy let out a curse, and Harry felt him land beside him. "At least I didn't beat myself senseless," he said petulantly.

Harry squinted an eye open, and saw Malfoy squat down, and gingerly touched the bump on his head. Harry jerked away, both eyes flying open. "Bloody hell, Malfoy, don't poke it!"

Malfoy glared angrily at him. "I wasn't _poking _it, Potter. I was seeing if you're alright."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, right," Harry muttered, sitting up. Or at least trying to; the world began to spin. He started to fall back, and was so surprised at Malfoy wrapping an arm around his shoulder and supporting him that he wondered if he was hallucinating. "What're you doing?" he asked, trying to free himself.

Malfoy's grip on him tightened. "Seeing as you don't seem to be able to right yourself, I thought I'd give you a hand. If you'd rather just lie here all night until somebody notices you're missing, be my guest."

Harry eyed Malfoy suspiciously. "Fine. But don't think you can hex me just because I hit my head."

Malfoy smiled at him, more amused than spiteful. "Actually, Potter, I'm pretty sure I could. Come on, up you go." Malfoy grabbed him round the ribs and pulled him into a standing position. Harry, despite every reason not to, like maybe how Malfoy had just said that he might hex him, leaned against the other boy, finding the world didn't spin quite so much when he wasn't free-standing. He blinked blood out of his eyes, but apparently he was still bleeding fairly heavily, because it didn't seem to do anything. He swiped at his eyes with the fist still holding the snitch, achieving nothing other than knocking against the bump and making his headache worse.

Malfoy seemed torn between laughter and contempt as he said, "Come on, Potter. I've got a potion or two in the Slytherin changing rooms that'll put you right."

Malfoy started to lead them in that direction, and Harry turned around, making his head feel like it was going to slide off his neck. "My broom?"

Malfoy waved his other hand, the one that wasn't supporting Harry. "Right here."

"Oh. Right then."

The boys stayed silent as Malfoy led Harry into the changing rooms, and deposited him on a bench. Harry leaned against the wall as Malfoy unlocked an innocuous wooden box and crouched in front of it, considering. Eventually he pulled out a jar containing something purple, and a metal flask.

"Here, drink this first," he said, handing the flask to Harry, who uncorked it and sniffed suspiciously. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It's just a healing draught," he said. "And not a very powerful one at that. But it should make the room stop spinning."

"How'd you know the room was spinning?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Because you haven't been able to sit, stand, or keep your eyes focused, and you're swaying. Just drink it." Harry took an experimental sip, and found that it tasted like cherry cough syrup. He wrinkled his nose, but the familiar medicinal taste made it easier to believe what Malfoy was saying. He closed his eyes and drained half the flask before Malfoy pulled it out of his hands. "That's enough," he said sternly. "Any more and you'll be blathering nonsense for the rest of the night." He put the flask back in the box, and unscrewed the lid of the jar. He started to explain to Harry what it was, when Harry sat up suddenly, a hand going to his head.

"Hey! My headache's gone!" he exclaimed. "And the room's not spinning anymore."

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "That is what I said would happen. Now listen: this is a cream for minor scrapes. I dunno how deep your head wound is, but it should help, at least a little." He dipped his fingers in the jar, scooped out a jelly-like substance, and pressed it gently against Harry's cut. Harry hissed and pulled away, eyes closing in pain.

"It stings!"

"Oh, did I forget to mention that?" Malfoy asked, mirth evident in his voice. "Now sit still and let me do this." His fingers were back on Harry's forehead, carefully rubbing the gel into the wound. Harry left his eyes closed, and found it was almost nice, to have somebody taking care of him like this. Almost, seeing as it was Malfoy after all. "There," he said after a few moments. "That should do it."

Harry opened his eyes, and found his eyelids and forehead were still caked with drying blood. He reached up and started to rub it off when Malfoy grabbed his wrist.

"Merlin, Harry, don't wipe that off. It took me ages to get the potion right," Malfoy said, annoyed. "Let it sit for a few minutes, then you can take a shower and get rid of all the blood."

Harry leaned back, focusing his eyes on the snitch he was still holding, turning it over and over. Memories of the other snitch, of his parents and friends started to surface, but Harry forced them back, refusing to talk to Malfoy about that night. "So why'd you help me?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the snitch.

"Consider this your first potion lesson," Malfoy answered fluidly, though Harry was pretty sure it wasn't the knock to his head that made his answer not make any sense.

"And I'm pretty sure we're not doing potions," Harry reminded him. "You didn't even tell me what you used."

Malfoy heaved a deep sigh. "The healing draught is called Zhiliao. It's a Chinese potion my mum picked up when she lived in Asia for a year. You make it by—"

"Alright, never mind," Harry interrupted, not in the mood to be lectured. Potion or not, he found his head did still ache, a little, and he figured trying to cram in studying wasn't the best idea.

"You asked," Malfoy replied peevishly.

Harry didn't bother to reply, not wanting to start an argument when they had been getting on so well. Not that he really wanted to think about that, either. Of all the consequences of the war, becoming friends with Malfoy had never crossed his mind, and he was in no mood to examine either of their intentions too closely.

"Alright," Malfoy said after a few minutes of silence. "You should be good to shower now." Harry opened his eyes and watched as Malfoy gracefully stood up and slipped his cloak off, revealing the standard black jumper with the Slytherin logo on the right breast pocket and black slacks. Malfoy saw Harry staring, and again raised an eyebrow. "What, you expect me to go back inside covered in sweat and grime?"

"I—no, of course not," Harry stammered. He stood up a little too fast, and Malfoy grabbed his elbow to steady him.

"Don't tell me you need a shower companion, because that is not going to happen," Malfoy said, a small smile playing around the edges of his lips.

Harry glared at him and yanked his arm back. "I'm fine," he snapped, letting his cloak fall to the ground, rather than hanging it up neatly like Malfoy had. He stepped into one of the shower stalls, drew the curtain and turned the water on, a steaming jet of already hot water appearing out of the wall. Harry heard Malfoy go into the stall next to his. He closed his eyes and began furiously scrubbing at the caked-on blood, resolutely not thinking of the naked Malfoy only a few feet to his left because, really, why would he be thinking of that.

"Potter," Malfoy said, and Harry looked up in shock to see Malfoy leaning over the wall of the stall.

"Malfoy!" he stammered, getting water in his eyes as he frantically tried to cover himself.

"Relax, Potter," Malfoy said with an amused smile. "Just wanted to make sure the gel worked. Sometimes if you wash it off too quickly, it can reverse the effect."

"I'm fine, now sod off!" Harry yelled, reaching for the closest projectile and throwing it at Malfoy, who frowned at him.

"Real mature," he said, stepping down from whatever ledge he had been on and disappearing from view. "I was just trying to help." He paused. "You threw conditioner at me? Figures. Even the great Harry Potter can be afraid of things he doesn't understand."

Harry scowled darkly, not responding to the bait. In all honesty, he hadn't even noticed the bottles of soap, shampoo and conditioner resting on a small shelf. The Gryffindor showers certainly didn't come with cleaning products. Then again, he could hardly imagine his team taking the time to fully wash after a match. It figured the Slytherins would be pompous even about post-Quidditch showers.

But, he supposed it wouldn't hurt, and he squeezed out a small amount of soap onto his palm. It smelled familiar, but not something he could identify. He quickly scrubbed himself down and, forsaking the shampoo entirely, stepped out from under the stream of water. It turned off immediately, and suddenly there was a rack of fluffy green towels next to him. He toweled off, and pulled on the clothes he had arrived in, not having thought to bring a change. He stepped out of the stall before Malfoy had even turned his water off, and Harry allowed himself a small smirk at Malfoy's obsessive bathing habits.

"So I guess I'll see you in potions," Harry called over the jet of water.

Malfoy raised a delicate hand over the wall of the stall. "See you later, Potty."

Harry snorted and left, thinking that even civility, and possibly the beginnings of a friendship, couldn't keep Malfoy from using that old, stupid nickname.


	4. Chapter 4: Saying All the Wrong Things

**A/N: **For all the people out there (including myself!) who thought things might be going a wee bit too quickly, I hope this chapter helps! I always planned on them having a kind of one-step-forward, two-steps-back type of relationship, so while it might make the story longer and move more slowly, it should be more realistic than a shorter "Yay! I don't hate you anymore out of nowhere for no reason! {snog}" story.

Also, sorry about the weird chapter title on for Chapter Three and, quite possibly, this chapter. They only let me use a certain number of characters, and I figure the name of the chapter is more important that what number it is.

As always, thanks for all the lovely reviews, favorites and follows! You guys blow my phone up with notifications and bring a smile to my face every time :)

Oh, also a quick continuity note: After starting to talk about Harry's classes and when they are and what house they're with, I realized in order to keep everything from going crazy, I had to make a schedule for him. Then, I realized I had to do the same thing for Malfoy. I went a little crazy trying to get everything to line up and make sense, but I did finally manage it. However, I (think? Maybe?) I had to change some things I had already said in this story. BUT, from HERE ON OUT, all classes and timings and everything will be the same every time. (I'm also working on a ridiculously complicated piece of artwork to go along with this, and I'll publish the link when it's done, probably next chapter.)

One last thing (sorry for ranting!): I almost certainly won't be able to get up another chapter until the weekend, so don't despair if you don't see anything from me. I'm not abandoning this guy, no way, no how. There's always a chance I'll be able to sneak something in, but I wouldn't count on it.

Anyways! Enjoy! Toodles!

**Chapter Four:**

_**Saying All The Wrong Things.**_

Harry walked up to Gryffindor tower with a spring in his step. Headache aside, he felt brilliant about winning his first Quidditch competition in years, even if it was just against Malfoy, and was surprisingly pleased with the direction their friendship, or whatever it was, was going. If his other friends were planning on abandoning him all year, he could use a new mate, especially one that could help him with potions. A brief frown crossed over his face. He didn't fancy the looks he would get from Gryffindors, and probably Slytherins too, for continuing to sit with Malfoy, and he supposed there would be an all-out inquisition from Ron. But even that couldn't keep his spirits down, and Harry reveled in this moment of happiness.

"_Lemon drop_," he said idly to the Fat Lady, in such a good mood that the familiar password hardly upset him.

What did upset him was the reaction he got when he stepped into the common room. Ginny and her considerable number of friends were in one corner, and they all glared at him as soon as he entered. He figured he deserved that much, but that didn't make him any less uncomfortable. Dean and Seamus were talking to the young French students, and as soon as they saw Harry, they broke into huge grins. There was no way that could bode well for him. Ron and Hermione were suspiciously absent, as was Neville, and Harry was a little embarrassed to admit that he was somewhat hurt that there was no one there to ask about the lump on his head.

Steeling himself for the highly possible and extremely unpleasant goings on behind the portrait, Harry shuffled over to where Ron and Hermione had disappeared from the night before and knocked on the door. There was no answer, and he realized he didn't even know what was behind it. Perhaps the staircase went up for flights and flights, or maybe Hermione had cast a silencing spell so as to not disturb the common room.

Harry slammed his fist against the painting, earning himself a rather angry look from the shepherd who resided there. "Oi!" he shouted into the wall, feeling a bit silly, especially as he could feel at least half the common room staring at him. "You two up there?" He heard a thump, then feet descending the staircase, and when the portrait opened he saw a surprisingly put together Hermione standing in front of him.

"Oh, hello Harry!" she said brightly, ushering him in. "Ron and I were just studying. Come on up."

Harry followed her up the candlelit stairs into a room not unlike the Gryffindor dorms. There was a large four-poster bed, larger than the ones in the dorms, shelves, dressers, and a door that looked to lead to a bathroom. The room was decked out in Gryffindor red and gold, of course, and Harry noted the stunning view of the lake. He also noticed, somewhat moodily, that they had their own fireplace, which currently had a small but pleasant fire crackling in it. Crookshanks sat purring on the edge of the bed, while Ron sat with a stormy expression at a desk tucked away in the corner.

"I just don't bloody get it," he said angrily. "Why're you making me study for Transfiguration when we haven't even had class yet?"

"Hello to you, too," Harry said with a small smile.

Ron looked up from his scroll. "Hullo, Harry. Hey, where'd you get that lump from? Looks nasty."

Harry, feeling vindicated, widened his smile. "Walked into a door," he said, having already decided on his answer.

"And I imagine that was a great time," Hermione said suspiciously. "Otherwise you wouldn't be smiling."

"Oh yeah, loads of fun," Harry said happily, plopping down next to Crookshanks and petting the cat. "Best thing that's happened to me all year."

Hermione's eyes were still narrowed, but she seemed to relax a little at his good mood. "At least you aren't sulking anymore."

"Well you two aren't snogging, and are actually talking to me," Harry replied, wondering a little too late if that was offensive. "Not that you were avoiding me or anything," he blustered, achieving nothing other than making Hermione and Ron giggle at his awkwardness.

"No worries, mate. Fancy a game of chess?"

Hermione gave Ron a stern look. "I thought you said you'd finish taking notes on the history of Muggles' interactions with transfiguration," she said. "You decided it was killing two birds with one stone, remember? Getting Muggle Studies _and_ Transfiguration out of the way?"

Ron heaved a huge sigh as he got out his chess set. "Come on, 'Mione. I've been studying forever. I need a break." He cleared off the desk by tossing the scrolls and books on the floor and began setting up. Harry joined him while a disgruntled Hermione picked up Ron's mess and began righting it.

"You two are impossible. Did you get any studying done at all today?" she asked Harry.

"Uh, yeah, loads. Learned about a Chinese healing potion," he said, feeling rather pleased with his answer.

"Oh?" Hermione asked, perking up. "Where did you run into that? Is there a book on it in the library somewhere?"

Harry rolled his eyes as he tried to focus on both the game and Hermione's questions. "Found it in some ancient Asian potion book," Harry lied, moving his knight in a mirror of Ron's move. "Dunno where I put it down, though."

"Harry, if you don't pay attention to the game, I'm going to beat you even faster than usual," Ron said, his knight slicing one of Harry's pawns to pieces.

Harry smiled happily. He didn't care who won (which was good, seeing as Ron was practically undefeated), but just spending time with his old friends was exactly what he needed. He wasn't thinking about the past, or avoiding any star-struck fangirls, or thinking about Malfoy. He was just relaxing with his friends, and it felt so good.

Eventually, though, Hermione gave him the ultimatum that if he wanted to stay, he'd have to study. Still riding the wave of good-feeling, Harry left, not wanting to ruin it with studying, though, he supposed as he walked down the stairs, he couldn't avoid it forever. Harry swung the portrait open, nearly knocking it into Neville

"Oh, hello Harry!" Neville said brightly. Harry noticed two high spots of color on his cheeks, and a rather silly smile spread across his face. "What've you been up to?"

"Clearly nothing as fun as you," Harry replied, leading the other boy over to two empty chairs. "What's got you all hot and bothered?"

Neville flushed even darker. "I was giving Aurora a tour of the greenhouse," he said, sounding only a little shy and embarrassed. "Turns out she's actually brilliant at potions, and is only interested in herbology in order to find out more about how the ingredients are curated."

"You could use a friend who's good in potions," Harry said with a smile. "Hermione said yours was only a step up from poison today."

Neville grimaced. "It wasn't my fault. Ginny kept pestering me." His eyes widened in realization. "Did you ever talk to her?"

Harry sighed lightly, refusing to let it get to him, not when he was in such a good mood. "Yeah, it's over."

"Well, at least you've gotten it done with." Neville paused. "I saw you sitting with Malfoy in potions," he said. "How'd that go?"

"Really good, actually," Harry said. "Looks like we both might have a chance of getting our potions N.E.W.T.s after all."

Neville snorted. "If you can convince Malfoy to sit next to you again."

Harry managed not to break into a self-serving grin. "Yeah, there's always that."

Neville yawned. "Anyways, I think I'm heading to bed. Got an early morning tomorrow."

"Yeah, me too," Harry said, following his friend up the stairs. "Transfiguration first thing, yeah?"

Neville nodded. "Then Charms, lunch, and Herbology."

Harry grimaced. He really ought to have studied, or at least brushed up. He might be able to cast protection spells and duel better than anyone else here, but somehow he didn't think that would help him in Herbology.

"Don't look so worried," Neville said, climbing into bed. "You'll do fine in Charms, from what I've heard, and we've got Herbology with the Ravenclaws. Can't go wrong with them."

Harry supposed Neville was right. "Yeah. G'night Neville."

"Night."

Harry closed his eyes, expecting the usual barrage of images from the past year—fighting Voldemort, seeing his parents, watching as his friends were killed. But instead visions of his game with Malfoy flew through his mind, and Harry fell asleep quickly and with a smile on his face.

He was woken up by an owl tapping insistently against his window. He groaned, rolled out of bed and let it in, noting that the sun had barely started to peek out over the horizon. The owl began to fly noisily around his head, threatening to get its feet tangled in Harry's hair again, causing Seamus to shout over at him to shut up, it wasn't even light yet, and giving Harry a pretty good idea of who had sent the note.

Harry eventually managed to grab the owl by the legs and pin it down on his bed, taking the note from around its legs.

_Potter—_

_Early morning rematch?_

_M._

The owl, Capry, Harry remembered, hooted excitedly, clearly waiting for a reply.

"I swear to god, Harry, if you don't get that thing to shut up—"

Harry threw a blanket over the owl, hoping that would muffle it enough, as he grabbed a quill and scrawled a response.

_Can't stand to lose? Meet you there in fifteen._

_H._

Harry had already tied the note to the owl and let it out the window before realizing he had signed the note with his first name. Oh well, he had just woken up, and the prospect of a quick game of Quidditch before breakfast was enough to make him forget he and Malfoy weren't on a first name basis. _Besides, _Harry reasoned as he got dressed, _Malfoy probably won't even notice._

Again, Harry arrived after Malfoy, and was greeted with a cold smile as he wrapped his cloak around himself. It really was unseasonably cold, and the wind was whipping around the castle, causing Harry to shiver slightly. "You got here fast," he muttered, bouncing from foot to foot, trying to keep warm.

Malfoy tossed him a flask, which he nearly dropped. "I was already awake," he said by way of explanation. "Drink that."

Harry eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Just drink it. It'll warm you up." Malfoy observed the look on Harry's face, and groaned. "You still don't trust me not to poison you? Not even after I healed you yesterday, from my own private stores?"

"Fine," Harry muttered, taking a sip of the liquid. It was delicious; tasted of cinnamon and nutmeg and chocolate, and immediately warmed him, all the way down to his toes. He gulped it down before handing the empty flask back to Malfoy. "You'll have to teach me how to brew that one," Harry said gratefully.

Malfoy smirked at him. "As if you could handle such a complex potion." His expression changed to something Harry didn't recognize, and then he realized Malfoy was trying to suppress a smile.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, amused himself at Malfoy's attempt to stay aloof.

Malfoy burst out laughing, apparently unable to help himself. "A first year could brew it," he said, slowly regaining control of himself. "Not even. A five year old could make it. It's just hot chocolate with a bit of Scamander ash thrown in."

Harry tried to glare at Malfoy, but ended up smiling instead. "Oh, all right then. Where'd you put my broom?"

Malfoy gestured behind him, and Harry saw it leaning against the wall. He grabbed it and mounted, not going to get left behind again. "The snitch is already out there, yeah?"

Malfoy nodded. "What'll the stakes be this time?"

It hadn't occurred to Harry that they'd be betting again. "If I win, you have to promise not to wake me up at the crack of dawn again."

Malfoy smirked. "You seemed all too eager to meet me here, _Harry_."

So Malfoy had noticed. Harry shook it off. "What'll it be for you? Same as last time?"

"Works for me. On three?"

"How about on one?" Harry said with a grin and kicked off. He barely heard Malfoy cursing behind him; the wind howled in his ears, managing to get through even the potion Malfoy had given him. He did a few laps of the field, then started to look for the snitch. He still hadn't given much thought to what he would tell Malfoy if he did win, and he didn't want to. Nor did he intend to let him win; Harry circled high above where Malfoy was, eyes peeled for a fleck of gold.

"So why're you up so early?" Harry yelled, not sure if he'd be heard above the wind. After yesterday's banter, it seemed natural to talk, and Harry was struck by how odd that was. He and Malfoy hadn't had a decent conversation in, well, ever.

"More like up so late," Malfoy shot back, flipping his broom upside-down so he was looking at Harry. "Don't get much sleep these days."

Harry looked down at him, then back up just in time to avoid flying into a goal post. Malfoy righted himself and cackled, but continued flying no more than ten feet below Harry. "How'd your roommates react to Capry?" he called.

Harry snorted, then paused. "Did you _tell _him to be loud?"

Malfoy smirked. "It might have slipped out."

"And just when I was starting to think you might be decent, too," Harry said. He realized they weren't circling the field nearly fast enough to spot the snitch, but something prevented him from speeding up.

Malfoy looked up at him with a crooked smile. "Me, decent? I can't imagine." Harry noticed the flush in his cheeks, no doubt from the wind, and how it contrasted against his pale skin. Malfoy smirked again. "See something you like?"

Harry hoped to Merlin that the wind would disguise his blush. "Just a little ferret who couldn't catch a snitch if it was dancing in front of his face."

Maybe calling him a ferret had gone a little too far. Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he sped up, flying higher and nearly knocking Harry off his broom as he passed him.

"Scarhead," he called down before flying out of ear-reach.

All things considered, the insult wasn't that bad. Not nearly as bad as he probably deserved. Harry also flew higher but kept clear of Malfoy, looking for the snitch in earnest. It seemed to him that it should be easy to spot in the sunrise, that the golden light would reflect perfectly off the golden snitch. But it seemed the opposite; both he and Malfoy had dived at rocks, glints from the gold name-plates on each other's broom and just plain dust molecules as they whizzed around the field. Just when Harry was prepared to give up and call it a day, Malfoy rocketed past him, arm outreached, and crowed in victory. He flew back over to Harry, brooms tip-to-tip and dauntingly held the snitch in front of Harry.

"So spill, half-blood. What's your deepest secret?"

Harry stared at Malfoy, dumbfounded. He honestly hadn't expected to lose, and Malfoy's potion was wearing off as well, leaving Harry exposed to the full force of the wind. "What do you want to hear about?" he shuttered, wrapping his cloak around himself, balancing precariously on his broom. "Voldemort? My parents? Or how about Dumbledore's death?" He saw the shocked look on Malfoy's face, and smiled bitterly. "Oh, didn't know I knew about that one?" he asked mockingly. "I was there for the whole thing, Malfoy. I saw what you did." Malfoy was sputtering, trying to come up with a response, when Harry continued. "I also saw what you didn't do," he said, tone much softer. "I saw you lower your wand."

Malfoy stared at Harry, speechless. Then, eventually, he forced out, "That's my secret, not yours."

Harry's eyes bugged out. "Y-you mean that didn't count?" he asked, flabbergasted. That memory was one of the strongest he had, and Malfoy didn't think it was good enough?

Malfoy managed a weak smirk. "Afraid not, Potter. Try again."

Harry raked his brain, trying to find something else he could tell Malfoy that would still count as a deep, dark secret. He couldn't think of much. Whatever was going on between them this year aside, Harry still didn't trust him, at least not completely, and he wasn't sure what he could tell him. Eventually, although part of his brain was screaming at him not to, he started to talk.

"I died, the night of the final battle," he said, teeth shaking from the cold. His hair whipped around his head, partially obscuring his vision of Malfoy. "I went to King's Cross Station, and I talked to Dumbledore. When I came back, your mum saved my life by telling Voldemort I was dead. That good enough for you?"

Malfoy paused a moment, then nodded curtly, and flew to the ground by the changing rooms. Harry stared after him.

"You're not going to say anything?" he shouted, flying faster than he should've, nearly snapping an ankle when he landed. "I just told you I _died_. You don't think that warrants a response?"

Malfoy glared at him. "What do you expect me to say? Congratulations?" The ghost of a smile crossed Malfoy's lips before his face hardened again. "I guess we're even now. You saved my life in the Room of Requirement, and my mom saved yours. Debt repaid."

Malfoy started to walk away, but Harry grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. Malfoy's eyes widened imperceptivity, and Harry tried to think of what he needed to say.

"Seriously, Potter, what do you want from me?" Malfoy asked, no trace of arrogance, annoyance or anything other than curiosity.

Harry let him go. "I dunno. Forget it."

Malfoy took in his shivering, his wind-chapped face, his hair blustering around his face, and his expression softened even further. "Come on, Potter. Let's go inside before we both freeze to death."

Harry nodded, quickly ducking into the Gryffindor changing rooms to drop off his broom before rejoining Malfoy outside. They walked to the castle in silence, and perhaps this was what Harry had been after—a moment of kindness, a sign that Malfoy cared even a little bit about him, about what he had said. No one other than Ron and Hermione knew what had happened in the woods, and Harry had thought it would stay that way for the rest of his life. Maybe all he needed was an acknowledgement that yes, that was a deep, dark secret, and yes, Malfoy understood the significance of it.

As soon as they entered the castle, Malfoy sped up, entering the Great Hall before Harry. Probably wise. Harry joined his friends at the Gryffindor table, fielding questions from Hermione and Ron about why he had been outside at this hour, especially when it was so cold out. He told them he had gone for a walk to clear his head, and that seemed to satisfy them. Harry realized he was lying to them more and more frequently, and he hated it, but despite Hermione's initial acceptance of him spending time with Malfoy, he couldn't bring himself to tell them that they were becoming…something, anyways. Not enemies might be as far as he was willing to go.

Much to his delight, Harry found a pitcher of hot chocolate in front of him, and when he took a sip he was almost surprised to find it flavored with cinnamon and nutmeg. He smiled to himself, noting that the house elves had skipped out on the Scamander ashes.

"Harry, are you having chocolate for breakfast?" Hermione asked disapprovingly.

"So what if I am," he replied, wrapping his hands around his mug, warming them. "It was cold out." _And I had a very difficult morning, thank you very much._

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said, for once not in the middle of chewing. "Seamus said someone owled you this morning. Since when do you get owls at all hours of the night?"

"Just fans," Harry said, yet another lie. "You wouldn't believe what some of them say."

Ron's eyes lit up. "Yeah? You'll have to show us sometime."

Harry flinched. The problem with lying. "Er, yeah, I will."

They finished their breakfast in relative silence, and walked together to Transfiguration, which McGonagall was still teaching, despite being Headmistress. Harry wondered if she had a time-turner of her own, to keep up with all the work. This class, too, was with the Slytherins, but this time Malfoy sat as far away from Harry as he could manage, and Harry snagged the seat next to Ron before Hermione could protest. He didn't understand exactly what had happened between him and Malfoy this morning, and he was guessing Malfoy didn't either, and he didn't want to push it. Besides, he had missed sitting with Ron, whispering through the whole class, laughing at each other's pathetic attempts to transfigure a Puffskein into a Kneazle. Harry at least ended up with something that looked like a cat, albeit a very fat and fluffy one, while Ron was left with a Puffskein with whiskers. Hermione had been prodding his back with her wand all through class, but her whispered instructions had, as always, done nothing to save Ron's floundering.

"Oh well," he said at the end of class, quickly stuffing the altered Puffskein into his bag, "I can always give it to Ginny. She's been going on about wanting another since Fred and George used it for bludger practice." Ron stopped walking, causing Hermione to crash into his back, and Harry stared at his friend. All the good cheer had left his face, and Harry knew the casual mention of Fred had been an accident.

"Come on," Hermione said softly. "We've got Charms next. Focusing on your schoolwork will help."

"Typical Hermione," Ron responded, voice at least an octave above normal. But he resumed walking, though Harry noticed he had a death grip on Hermione's hand. He supposed he wouldn't be sitting with Ron this time, but that was alright. They were with the Hufflepuffs, and there was no way he'd get trapped into sitting with Malfoy again.


	5. Chapter 5: A Rose By Any Other Name

**A/N: **Whoosh, this chapter flew, once I got it started! It also went in a completely different direction than I had been planning, but I'm quite pleased with it.

Also, just so y'all know—I had a two hour drive home from the Cape today, and before I left I downloaded a recorder app for my phone, so every time I had an idea for my story, I'd have a way of reminding myself of it once I'd gotten home. I ended up with seventeen separate recordings, ranging in time from four seconds to three minutes. And, as I was transcribing them, half the time I got inspired and wrote the whole damn scene a good bajillion chapters early. But this is great for you guys, cause it means I have a ton of stuff plotted out, and it's super unlikely I'll get stuck and have to stop! Things you should be looking forwards to:

~the Room of Requirement (next chapter! Unless it goes rogue again like this one did!)

~Molly Weasley (though not till Christmas [story-Christmas, not real-Christmas])

~bludgers

~kisses, though not in the way you think (also may appear next chapter, though almost certainly the one after)

And a ton more I can't even give you a clue about without ruining a whole December's worth of plot!

Even though I give this warning every chapter and it still hasn't happened, I'm not positive I'll be able to get up a chapter tomorrow. I have a stomach bug, which thankfully manifested after this guy was already done and just needed to be edited, and if I'm not feeling any better, I'm not sure I'll be able to write (though it is half-written as it stands).

Oh, and by the way—I did invent all the plants, as well as the charm Harry uses on his letter to Ron. Everything else should be canon, I think. Related note: Latin is hard D:

Cheers!

**Chapter Five:**

_**A Rose By Any Other Name…**_

Charms actually seemed like it might not be a disaster after all—Flitwick started off with protection charms, which Harry could do in his sleep. After a few quick demonstrations, including disappearing behind his own spell, Flitwick told them to separate into groups of four and practice casting a wide enough spell to encompass all four students. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville scooted their desks together, and while Harry and Hermione were quickly sitting next to each other, surrounded by a slightly shimmering wall, Ron and Neville seemed to be having some trouble.

"Ron, you know how to do this," Hermione coached.

Harry rolled his eyes. "He can't hear you, 'Mione. We're behind the spell."

Hermione pinked slightly. "Oh, right." She waved her wand in a quick little trick, and a hole appeared on her side of the wall. "Ron, just take a deep breath. You can do this."

Ron, who was now bright red with frustration, cursed at her. "I bloody well know I know how to do it!" he snapped at her, waving his wand seemingly at random, causing Neville to duck as a jet of something shimmery shot across the room, bouncing off the chandelier before breaking a window.

"Careful there, Weasley!" Flitwick called down from his perch. "Smooth arcs! Don't jerk around so much!"

Ron muttered something under his breath that caused Hermione to reach out the window she had created and smack him. "Don't talk about your professors like that," she admonished. "Now just think back to the last time you cast one. Surely it can't have been that long ago."

Ron turned on her, all-out fury spreading across his face. "Thanks for reminding me, Hermione," he yelled, causing the rest of the classroom to fall silent. "The last time I cast a bloody protection spell was when I was trying _not to_ _get killed_ while watching everyone I loved and cared about die in front of my eyes. That's _real helpful_, that." Ron slammed his wand down and stalked out of the classroom, slamming the door behind himself.

"Perhaps we should move onto a different spell," Flitwick said somberly. "One that does not remind us all of that fateful night."

Harry and Hermione didn't wait to hear what he was going to suggest this time; they quickly gathered their things and followed Ron out the door, not noticing the sympathetic look Flitwick sent their way as they left.

"Ron, wait up!" Hermione shouted, hurrying to catch up to him.

He pointed his wand over his shoulder and cast a poorly aimed leg-locking curse at Hermione. She dodged it easily, ignoring the angry shouts of the friar in the portrait behind her, who suddenly found himself unable to move.

"Cursing me isn't going to help!" she pleaded, grabbing Harry and ducking behind a suit of armor as Ron yelled,

"Slugulus Eructo!"

The suit of armor began the arduous process of burping up a lifetime's worth of slugs, cursing the entire Weasley family in between bouts of slugs pouring out the holes in his helmet.

Still dragging Harry by the arm, Hermione increased her pace. "We're all hurting!" she reminded him, an eerie echo of Ginny's words from the other day. "You're not the only one who—"

"Hermione, SHUT UP!" Ron bellowed, turning to face them. A jet of purple light shot out of his wand and wrapped itself around Hermione's mouth, effectively gagging her. She whimpered, desperately pulling at the gag. Ron turned to Harry, eyes on fire. "Got anything to say, mate?" he asked, voice utterly calm.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing here."

"Right, then," Ron said. He turned a corner, and Harry immediately turned to Hermione.

"Hold still, would you?" he said, pointing his wand at the gag. "I don't want to hurt you." She stilled and dropped her hands as Harry bit his lip and, as carefully as he could, said, "Reducto!" The gag fell away, Hermione unharmed. Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin," he said. "I wasn't sure I could get it without—" He stopped in stunned silence as Hermione slapped him.

"Why'd you let him get away?" she asked furiously, tears starting to course down her face.

Harry stared at her in shock. "I…you want me to go after him? And what, end up in the infirmary for the rest of term?"

She glared at him, as enraged as Ron had been. "Since when did you get so bloody self absorbed?" she yelled. "You spend all summer ignoring us when we needed you, especially Ron! And now you refuse to help him, even after all we did for you? He did lose a brother, you know!"

Harry gaped at her. "What _did_ you do for me?"

Hermione screamed in frustration. "How can you ask me that at a time like this! _This is not about you, _Harry! Get that through your thick skull!" She stormed off, starting to turn around the corner after Ron, before turning back and shouting, "And the only reason I'm not going to tell Ron _right now_ about your secret rendezvous with Malfoy is because I _don't _want you to end up in the infirmary."

Harry was left standing alone in the hallway, the only sound the steady patter of slugs falling onto the floor. There were so many thoughts flying through his head he hardly knew where to begin. Hermione was right; he had been stunningly selfish all summer, barely taking care of himself, let alone anyone else. He had reveled in his lack of responsibility, ignoring the fact that friendship wasn't something he could just put down and pick back up again when it suited him. He did have responsibility, responsibility to his friends, and if he hoped to speak to Ron ever again, he'd better get his act together. Now.

Harry hurried down the corridor and up to Gryffindor Tower. He could hear muffled yelling from behind Ron and Hermione's portrait, and didn't bother trying to get in. Instead he sprinted up the steps to his own room, grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, and started writing.

After twenty minutes of writing and another two pages of parchment, Harry set down his quill. He had apologized for everything: for his hermitage, isolating himself at the cost of being there for his friend; for constantly ragging on him about his relationship with Hermione, which should make him happy and joyful, not bitter and discontented; for not inviting Ron to play Quidditch with him (not with Malfoy, he thought to himself, he didn't need anymore blood on his hands); and for not making any inquiries, now or over the summer, as to how the rest of the Weasley family was holding up. Ron could hardly be the only one hurting, and probably not even the worst—Harry couldn't imagine what George was going through, but he thought Ron would have a very good idea, and almost certainly needed someone to talk to about it. Harry had assumed that Hermione could take care of him and vice versa, but it was now blindingly clear that Ron needed him as well, and he apologized for that too.

Glancing at the clock, Harry hastily shoved his letter into an envelope and hurried downstairs. Just as he was about to slip it under the portrait, there was a terrific thud from upstairs, and the painted shepherd said, "I'd give that a few protection spells if you want it to survive, if I were you."

"Er, thanks," Harry said, pulling out his wand and encasing the envelope in a nifty spell he had come across in one of the ancient Black books scattered around Grimmauld Place. It wouldn't let the envelope be touched by anyone angry; only after Ron had calmed down would he be able to pick it up and see what Harry had to say for himself. Feeling satisfied, he slipped the note under the door, and sprinted outside to the greenhouses, barely making it to Herbology on time. _Bloody hell, it's only Tuesday and I've already spent most of my time running around and fighting_, Harry thought to himself as fell in line next to Luna and followed her into greenhouse three.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted cheerfully, and Harry couldn't help a small smile back.

"Hello, Luna. How's your first week back going?"

She took a moment to answer; a bright magenta flower had caught her eye and she carefully leaned in to examine it. "It's an _aurugine unguenti_," she said, taking in a deep breath. "One of the best smelling flowers in the world. That is, if you brew it right. Come here, Harry. Have a look."

He leaned over and cautiously sniffed the flower. It drew in on itself, then puffed out a cloud of pink spores. Harry immediately started sneezing uncontrollably, trying at first to be subtle, but quickly giving up any pretense as the entire class stopped and stared at him.

"Thanks…Luna," he managed between sneezes.

She laughed lightly. "I told you it had to be brewed correctly. I did say look, not smell."

Professor Sprout shoved her way through the students, angrily asking, "Okay, whose gotten into the aurugine?" She sighed wearily when she saw it was Harry. "Of course it's you, Potter. Come on, then." She grabbed his arm and hauled him, still sneezing, over to a small cupboard. She rummaged around inside, then pulled out an unlabeled jar. She grabbed his hand, and shook out a healthy amount of blue powder. "Sniff this, you'll be alright."

Being careful not to sneeze the powder away, Harry quickly snorted up as much as he could. For a moment he felt as if his nose was at war with itself, but before he could even put a word to the sensation, it quieted, and he was sneeze free. "Thanks, Professor," he said weakly.

"And this, class, is why we don't touch, smell, breathe on, look at or think about any plant in greenhouse three without my express permission," she said sternly. She was met with a chorus of nervous laughter, and she shook her head. "Alright, pair up, and grab some galoshes from that cabinet. Despite Potter's best attempts to show off the finer points of the _aurugine unguenti_, we're going to be working with mud plants today. Hurry up, now!"

Harry quickly snagged a pair of likely-sized galoshes and pulled them on, eternally grateful as Neville appeared at his side, as he had had quite enough of Luna for the day.

"Is Ron alright?" he asked as the class walked out the back door of the greenhouse into a field of mud. "I didn't see him in the greenhouse.

"I dunno, he and Hermione are still duking it out," Harry said, their absence from class so expected that he hadn't noticed until Neville pointed it out.

"Give him my best," Neville said, reaching down into the mud and pulling out what looked like a rotting, black pumpkin. That, Harry could smell, and the scent alone nearly knocked him backwards.

"What is that?" Harry asked, watching as the thing started squirming in Neville's hand. "Why haven't we got gloves?"

Neville laughed. "Oh, Harry, don't be silly. It's just a _putribilibus cucurbitae_. It's harmless, see?" he said, and tossed the thing at Harry, who caught it, and felt his stomach turn as it slimed over his fingers.

"Brilliant."

Herbology seemed to last forever, but despite thoroughly washing his hands, Harry hadn't felt less hungry in his life. Still, he followed Neville to lunch, absentmindedly listening as his friend told him about all the new plants he had grown over the summer, and what Aurora, who, Harry noticed, Neville was now calling Rory, had in her garden at home.

"Er, Neville, that's great, but maybe we can not talk about anything that oozes during lunch, alright?" Harry asked with a rather pained look on his face.

Neville smiled, clearly trying to bite back laughter. "If you're so squeamish, you should've said so back when we were talking about the—"

"Yeah, well I'm saying it now," Harry interrupted, looking at the spread of food in front of him, trying to find something that didn't remind him of anything he had studied in class or that Neville had described to him on the walk up to the castle. Eventually he settled on a slice of plain bread, and water. Exciting? No. But at least he'd be able to keep it down.

Ron and Hermione were absent from lunch as well, Harry noted with a heavy heart. Now that it had been so obviously pointed out to him, all he wanted was to be with Ron, and help him through this. But he had known Ron and his temper for long enough that he thought if they were on speaking terms by New Year's, he'd come out on top. Hell, if they could give each other a goodbye handshake at the end of the year, Harry would be pleased.

"Harry, post," Neville said, pointing as an all-too-familiar owl swooped out of the air and deposited a note on his, thankfully empty, plate. "You really are popular. I'm pretty sure you've gotten mail every time I've seen you."

Harry muttered something in return as Capry settled on his shoulder. Apparently he was still going to wait around for a reply, but at least he wasn't causing a ruckus while he did it. He picked up the parchment somewhat gingerly; after this morning's match, he didn't know if this would be another invitation to play Quidditch, or some sort of hex for having known about the night at the astronomy tower.

_Potter—_

_I've been out of class since quarter of ten and I'm bored silly. If you're not free after lunch, I swear I'll go mental._

_M._

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. What was this? A request to…hang out? As friends? Without any sort of preamble as to why they'd be in the same room at the same time? He glanced over to the Slytherin table, but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Capry nipped his ear none-too-lightly, and Harry batted at the bird.

"Who's it from, then?" Neville asked. "Given the state of your eyebrows, it must be from the minister himself."

Harry flushed. "Uh, no, not quite." He grabbed a quill out of his bag, and hesitated. He wasn't sure how he felt about being at Malfoy's beck and call, especially given how readily he had woken up at what could have been no later than five this morning to run off and play Quidditch with him. It seemed like he should have some self-respect, enough to not always immediately respond with an eager, "Yes! Right now please!" Capry bit his ear again, a little harder this time, and Harry jabbed his quill at it.

"Give me a minute, I'm thinking!" he said angrily to the owl, earning himself a skeptical look or two from his fellow Gryffindors. He had wanted to check in on Ron after lunch as well, despite the overwhelming likelihood of being hexed. And, now that he thought about it, he had potions homework due the next morning. So, really, the only sensible thing to do was tell him he was busy.

_I've got studying with Ron and Hermione until after dinner. Rematch at seven?_

_H._

Harry dug Capry's claws out of his shoulder and sent the owl flying away. That had been saying no, right? And definitely not forgetting twice in a row that he really ought to be signing these Potter and not Harry. Neville was still looking at him with curiosity, and he raked his brain for an answer, any answer other than the truth, as to who he was owling.

"Er—"

Neville's eyes suddenly lit up. "Have you got an admirer?" he asked, loudly enough to attract stares. Harry noticed the two young French girls were only a few seats down, and he grabbed another piece of bread to hide how uncomfortable he was.

"Hardly," he replied, but he could tell from Neville's expression that he didn't believe him.

"Good for you, moving on so fast," Neville said. "Just be careful not to hurt Ginny. And make sure it's not a rebound; those never end well."

_How would you have any idea? _Harry thought angrily. The closest he had seen to Neville dating someone was when he took Ginny to the Yule Ball, and that had been four years ago. "It's nothing like that, really," Harry insisted. "It's just Molly Weasley checking in," he said with a flash of brilliance.

Neville smiled coyly at him. "Oh yeah? That's an awfully quick turnaround time from the Burrow."

"What're you—" Harry started, then saw that Capry was back with another note. He preemptively grabbed the bird out of the air before it could do any damage, unwrapped the note, and shoved the owl into his bag.

_I heard about your fallout, Potter, I'm not an idiot. The whole school's going on about the puking armor. That Weasel temper won't have flared down yet. Rematch now._

_M._

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh for Merlin's sake," he exclaimed. Clearly the whole school did not know about the suit of armor, otherwise half the Great Hall would be questioning him about it, and there hadn't been one word said on the subject. Obviously Malfoy had found out somehow, but it was equally as obvious that his absence from the Hall rendered him oblivious to the activities of the school. He saw Neville trying to catch a glimpse of the note, and balled it up. "Molly's new bird is really fast," Harry said, sounding ridiculous to his own ears.

"And likes to be thrown into bags, I take it."

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, standing up. "I've gotta go study. See you later." He walked slowly up to Gryffindor tower, ignoring the indignant hooting from his bag, keeping his energy focused on trying to dissect Malfoy's notes. He was clearly used to getting everything he wanted the moment he wanted it, and Harry had to wonder how he could have stayed in good favor with the Slytherins for so long. Harry found the attention-seeking rather amusing, but it had only been a few days, never mind seven years. And surely Malfoy had known some of his housemates before he had arrived at Hogwarts.

Ah, yes. There was the answer, of course. The Malfoy name had kept him the center of the Slytherin world, but now that they had fallen from society, there was no one left to keep Malfoy entertained. No one except, apparently, Harry Potter. Harry wondered if Malfoy saw the irony, or if he was just disgusted with the situation. Harry wasn't even sure Malfoy actually liked him; most of their time spent together was spent fighting or, at the very least, sparring, neither of which seemed to indicate a desire for a real friendship. Harry actually found it rather sad that Malfoy had to resort to such measures just to get any attention, and wondered if there was anyone out there who genuinely cared for him.

Harry walked through the common room uneventfully, most Gryffindors still at lunch and silence from behind the shepherd portrait, and when he arrived in his room, he was pleased to find it empty. He let Capry out of his bag and the owl hooted gratefully, flying in short, manic circles around the ceiling of the room. Harry smoothed out the note from Malfoy, and scratched a reply.

_Don't you have studying to do yourself? See you at seven._

_H._

With the owl momentarily gone, Harry began the search for his potions textbook, and the notes he had managed to take in class, before Malfoy had opened his damned mouth and started singing. After tearing apart his desk, his trunk, and looking under the bed, Harry was starting to get genuinely upset. How on earth could he have lost his potions book already? He'd only had the blasted thing for a couple of days. The tapping starting up on his window coincided with his memory that he was, in fact, a wizard, and had easier ways of finding things. Ignoring the owl, Harry took his wand out of his pocket and said, "Accio potions book!"

Nothing happened. Harry cursed, and let the bird in before it tapped a hole through the window. It seemed his book really wasn't here. Had he left it in the dungeons after class? That seemed most likely. He had been rather distracted. Capry settled at the top of his dresser, and Harry dragged over his desk chair and climbed up to get the note without really thinking about it. If his text book was still in the classroom, it was probably on its way, whizzing through the corridors and surprising any students who happened to be in its way.

Harry was vaguely aware of a rhythmic thumping coming from downstairs, but he ignored it as he read the response from Malfoy.

_A Malfoy study? Couldn't be bothered. Not all of us have to worry about passing our N.E.W.T.s, Potter._

_Your relentless use of your first initial has caught my eye, though._ _Are we on a first name basis, then? I'll leave this note unsigned as I count the minutes for your reply._

Harry snorted. Honestly, he had just been signing his first name out of habit, and hadn't given any more thought to it than that, other than what Malfoy might think. As he tried to think of what could possibly constitute a reply to such a ridiculous note, he became aware that the thumping downstairs was getting louder, and more aggressive. Harry grabbed his wand, just in case, closed the door to his room so Capry wouldn't escape, and walked down to the common room.

It was immediately apparent where the thumping was coming from—behind the shepherd portrait that blocked the way to Ron and Hermione's room. The shepherd threw an incredibly annoyed look at Harry and said, "There's a book slamming against me, and I don't like it."

Harry had left his potions book in Ron and Hermione's room, then. "Sorry, that'd be my fault," Harry said, and tried to turn the portrait to the side. It wouldn't budge. "Can you, er, let me in?"

"I've also been enchanted closed," he said, and gave Harry a pointed look. "Something about envelopes being thrust beneath me."

Harry's stomach twisted the same way it did when he was in trouble with McGonagall. This shepherd certainly could make a wizard feel like a complete and utter dolt. "Ah, I see," Harry replied.

"Any suggestions?" he asked angrily. "I understand you're friends with the wizards who live beyond my portrait? Not that you'd know it by the way they treat me. Slamming me open and shut at all hours of the night, making horrific noises all day, and never once bothering to ask my name, neither of them."

Harry took this to be directed at him, as well. "What's your name, then?"

The shepherd smiled smugly. "Heidelberg," he said. "Shepherd Heidelberg, at your service." He bowed slightly.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said awkwardly, never knowing quite how to carry on an extended conversation with a portrait. "I'm Harry."

Heidelberg rolled his eyes. "I _know _that. Think I'm daft, do you?"

Harry squirmed again. "No, not at all, sorry." Throughout their conversation the slamming had gotten louder and louder, and from behind the portrait, Harry finally heard what he had been waiting for.

"FINE!" Ron bellowed. "I'LL LET THE BLOODY BOOK OUT!" The steps down the stairs sounded like they belonged to an elephant, and then there was a sudden, even louder thump, then silence.

"BLOODY HELL!" Ron yelled.

"Ron, are you alright?" Hermione's voice drifted out from behind the door, calmer and significantly fainter. Harry figured she was standing at the top of the stairs.

"I forgot the damned door was enchanted!" Ron yelled, and Harry suppressed a smile. When Ron finally did get the door open, the last thing Harry wanted him to see was him being laughed at. The thumping resumed, and Ron muttered something under his breath. The portrait opened, and Heidelberg muttered, "Finally."

Harry's potions book flew out the gap, and hit him in the chest, nearly hard enough to knock his breath out. "Ron," Harry wheezed.

"Harry," Ron said, rubbing the spot on his arm where Harry assumed he had collided with the door.

"Did you get my note, then?"

"'Mione did. Seemed I couldn't pick the damned thing up."

"I see," Harry said, trying to sound inconspicuous. "Did she read it to you?"

"Yeah," Ron replied stiltedly. "At length. Repeatedly."

"Ah. Well then." Harry shuffled his feet, unsure if he should continue this non-conversation, or if he should leave Ron in peace.

"Ron, are you apologizing?" Hermione asked from the top of the stairs.

Ron flushed. "No, I'm bloody not!" he yelled up the stairs, though he still didn't close the door.

"Oh, sure," Heidelberg chimed in. "Just leave me hanging open like this. That's a fine way to spend an afternoon."

Ron shot a furious glance at the back of the portrait. "Shut it, would you?"

"See what yelling at your door gets you," the shepherd replied. "Go on. Let me have it."

Ron stewed in silence, obviously working very hard to not say anything further.

"I'll just be going, then," Harry said. He waved his book in the air. "Sorry for the disturbance." He had his foot on the bottom step when Ron called out to him.

"Harry…wait." Harry turned around, and Ron came halfway into the common room, still leaving his door open, apparently unwilling to discount the possible need to escape. "Your note—"

"You don't have to say anything," Harry interrupted quickly. "Or apologize. Dunno why Hermione would even think you'd need to. It's my fault, all of it. I've been a blind git, and I deserve those curses you threw at me."

Ron smiled crookedly. "Nobody deserves to throw up slugs, Harry. Not even you."

Harry smiled back. He heard a very, very quiet thump from upstairs, the opposite of the deafening bangs from his potions book, and was reminded of Capry, and that Malfoy was still waiting for a response. "Look, I've got an owl to send, and then d'you want to study together? We've got that foot and a half due for Slughorn tomorrow on how Singing Solutions can be used to fight Death Eaters."

Ron actually laughed. "Well, we could always throw Malfoy at them and run away as they stared in shock. Blimey, I was there and I still don't believe it happened."

Harry laughed as well, ignoring the tightening in his stomach. "Yeah. Lemme just go send my owl, and I'll be back."

"Don't hurry too much," Ron called up. "I could always use another minute or two of not writing my essay."

Harry smiled to himself as he opened his door, closing it as quickly as he could so the owl wouldn't escape. He couldn't believe how quickly Ron had forgiven him; it had to have been a record. Hermione really was a good influence on him. Capry landed on his head as usual, though he managed to do it more gently this time, and pulled at his hair. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm doing it," Harry muttered, still rather cheerfully. He sat at his desk and scrawled,

_Call me whatever you like, though be warned if I don't like it, you'll be Ferret to me forever. I'll see you at seven._

_Oh, and I really will be with Ron and Hermione until then, so owl me back at your own risk._

Harry sent the note off without a signature, and went back downstairs to join his friends.


	6. Chapter 6: Strangers in the Night

**A/N: **And then I stayed up until four in the morning last night writing this chapter. Again, it got away from me, but I'm foolishly pleased with myself as to how it turned out. I haven't quite decided what direction to go in next, but there'll probably be a chapter up tomorrow, assuming this bloody stomach flu and coldy haze doesn't utterly destroy my powers of thought.

**Chapter Six:**

_**Strangers In The Night.**_

Harry's peace with Ron lasted about five minutes.

Hermione had conjured an extra chair, and the three of them sat at the tiny desk, each with their potions books, scrolls and inkwells, causing near-constant spills. Luckily Hermione had mastered and ink-cleaning spell over the summer, so there were no catastrophes, at least not until there was a familiar tapping on the window, causing Harry's stomach to sink.

"I'll get that," he said, standing up too quickly, this time upsetting all three inkwells.

"Harry, be more careful," Hermione admonished, though she cleaned the mess with a single swipe of her wand. "And what makes you think that owl's for you? This is our room after all."

"Just got a feeling." Harry opened the window, trying and failing to catch Capry before his friends could see him.

"Isn't that the same owl from yesterday?" Ron asked. "The one that attacked you on the staircase?"

"No," Harry said, trying and failing to hide the hyperactive bird from view.

"I'm certain it is," Hermione said. "One tends to get familiar with birds when one has to remove them from certain people's hair. What's it doing following you around?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, making a flying leap for it and nearly landing on his face. _Blimey, this is harder than catching a snitch_, he thought angrily as Capry landed on the top of one of the bedposts.

"Come on, Harry," Ron urged. "Who's the owl from?"

"Nobody," Harry said, finally successfully managing to trap the bird on the mantle of the fireplace. He grabbed the note off its leg and read it as quickly as he could, with every intention of destroying it before either of his friends could see who it was from.

_Anything I want, eh? I'll have to think on that one._

_And really, Potty, why're you doing potions homework when you've got me in class? It's just daft, that is. Quidditch is a much better use of your time._

_D._

_p.s. If you're really with Granger and the Weasel, feel free to give them my regards. Just snap a picture of it so I can see the look on their faces._

Harry was about to set fire to the parchment when he noticed the innocuous little D in place of the usual M. He felt his face heat up, and his stomach clench. _I must be coming down with something_, Harry thought to himself, still staring dumbly at the letter. _Because, really, why would such a little thing make such a difference?_

"Harry," Hermione warned in her sternest of voices. "There's no point in hiding it from us. You know we'll figure it out sooner or later."

Harry caught the slight emphasis she put on sooner, and figured she knew it was from Malfoy. How she had known about their Quidditch matches was beyond him, but he might as well get used to it."It's really nothing," he said stubbornly, but couldn't quite bring himself to set fire to the page.

"Bollocks," Ron said. He had been slowly raising his wand, and suddenly struck. "Accio parchment!"

"Give it back!" Harry yelled, watching with something approaching horror as the paper flew out of his hands and into Ron's. He watched as Ron's face flushed, then quickly turned back to the mantle, where Capry was scooting back and forth, eagerly waiting for a return note. He couldn't bring himself to look at Ron, even though he could feel his eyes boring into the back of his neck, not when they had just managed to mend fences. Harry knew there was no way Ron would be able to understand his friendship with Malfoy, at least not right away, and he had been hoping for another couple weeks at least before needing to tell him.

"Harry," Ron said quietly.

"Yeah, Ron," Harry said despairingly, resigned to his fate.

"Why's Malfoy sending you notes?"

Capry did a little jump at his master's name, which might have been cute if Harry wasn't absolutely positive he was about to be hexed to hell and back. "You'd have to ask him," Harry replied.

"And why's he signing them D?"

Harry's eyes slipped closed. "Dunno."

Hermione had stayed silent through this, but couldn't help herself any longer. "Oh, just tell him, Harry," she burst out. "It's Quidditch, not a war crime."

That was the final straw. Hermione had never understood how important Quidditch was to either Ron or Harry, and she couldn't have said anything worse. Ron's tone remained calm and quiet, which was perhaps scariest of all.

"You've been playing Quidditch, with Malfoy, in secret," Ron said slowly. "How long's this been going on? Is that why you didn't want us over all summer, because you were off cavorting with Malfoy?"

Harry spun around. "Ron, no, of course not. Yesterday was our first game. It just sort of happened. He owled me first." He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop. "He's the best seeker in the school after me, and I hadn't played in years, I couldn't say no."

"Couldn't say no, eh?" Ron mused. "Seems to me you're pretty good at saying no, if last summer is taken into account. How many times have the two of you played? Cause, I swear to god Harry, if you've been spending more time with Malfoy than me and Hermione, that's the end of it."

"Don't be daft," Harry snapped. "Of course I haven't been spending more time with him than you. I'm studying with you, aren't I?"

"Oh, and I suppose you'd rather be studying with him?" Ron snapped, the word him coming out like a swear. "After all, he is the best at potions in the entire school. Why, with his help, you'd be unstoppable."

Harry did not feel this was the time to mention his deal with Malfoy regarding potions. "I don't want to be anywhere other than here," Harry replied stiffly, and he was well aware that his tone neatly negated his words.

"Well, that's a shame, since you are hereby officially no longer welcome in our room," Ron said, voice still conversational. "Right, Hermione?"

She looked torn. "Er, well, Harry, you better go."

"Right then." Harry swept his things off the desk, making sure to leave nothing behind. "Come on, Capry." The owl immediately took off, landing on his shoulder and digging his claws in deep enough that Harry had to work to keep the pain off his face. He wanted to say something else, something to make this less civil, less final, but he couldn't find the words, not even to say goodbye. So he walked down the stairs and out the door without a single backwards glance.

Harry stood in the common room, trying to decide where to go. It was only one-thirty, so dinner was out of the question. Both the common room and the library were full of students, Harry was sure, and he wanted to be alone. He supposed he could message Malfoy back and take him up on his offer to do whatever he was offering, but that just seemed wrong. He wasn't angry at him, not yet. The starkness of his conversation with Ron had left no room for emotions, though he was sure he wouldn't be staying this calm forever.

"Harry!" Neville's voice rung out across the crowded room, and Harry walked over to join him. "Ron doing any better? I saw you come down from their room."

Harry didn't know how to answer that. "I think he's feeling better about Charms," he settled on, though if that wasn't a bollocks answer, he didn't know what was.

"I'm surprised you're not up there with them. Usually the three of you are inseparable."

_How was it that Neville always knew exactly the wrong thing to say? _ Harry thought without a trace of bitterness or anger, just mild surprise that someone could be so daft so consistently. "Things change," Harry said noncommittally.

"Oh," Neville said, and Harry saw with a detached eye that he looked a little sad at the news. "Well, if you want to study with me, I'm still on the potions essay. It's ridiculous; I can't find a single mention of a Singing Solution ever being used as anything other than a party trick."

"Maybe Slughorn was getting at sirens," Harry suggested, the idea coming out of nowhere. "Y'know, the Grecian mermaids who sang sailors into the rocks."

Neville's eyes lit up. "Harry, that's brilliant! Thanks!"

"Don't mention it." Harry had to get out of this conversation, out of the common room. "I think I'm gonna go practice potions," he lied, slowly stepping away from Neville's table. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Uh huh," Neville replied, quill flying across the parchment, and Harry knew he could have said that he was going to fly to the moon to have a picnic with Voldemort's ghost and gotten the same response. He walked away, a small sadness beginning to tug at his heart. He didn't know where he was going yet, only that nobody would know he was there, nor would they care. For the first time since he had left the Dursleys, Harry was utterly unaccountable.

He ended up outside by the lake, underneath a tree. Capry was still with him, apparently very well-trained indeed. He had calmed down a bit, and was sitting peaceably in Harry's lap, letting himself be absentmindedly petted, and even hooting in approval when Harry rubbed behind his ears. He supposed this should make him miss Hedwig, but he was still too numb to care. It had warmed up considerably from his early-morning match, and Harry found himself falling asleep. That seemed right; he had been woken up at the crack of dawn, after all. He let his eyes slip shut, and he was gone.

He woke up hours later with an awful crick in his neck, Capry nipping none-too-gently on his fingers, and the setting sun directly in his eyes. "Ugh, how long was I asleep for?" he asked, before realizing he was alone, and that was a rather stupid thing to say under the circumstances. He picked up his wand and conjured a clock; it was quarter to seven, meaning if he wanted to meet Malfoy on time, dinner was out of the question. That was alright; it wasn't like he had anyone to sit with other than Neville, who, while sweet in his own way, never seemed to realize when people tired of hearing about plants.

Harry stretched, his spine crackling with several loud pops. "That's better," he said out loud, deciding he was talking to Capry. He used to talk to Hedwig all the time, after all. "So, what do you say? Time to destroy Malfoy at Quidditch? Or should I find a place to sulk for the rest of the night?"

As before, Capry began hopping up and down at the mention of Malfoy's name, and Harry figured that was a good a sign as any that he should play Quidditch. Gathering his book bag and scooping the owl onto his shoulder, he walked over to the field, still feeling rather numb, or maybe just groggy from his nap. In any case he was slow moving, and, like always, Malfoy had arrived before him.

The sight of the other boy was enough to jolt Harry back into his usual fiery self. It seemed a switch had been flipped; one moment he was calm and almost serene, the next his blood was boiling.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming," Malfoy said by way of greeting, "as you didn't answer my note. I see you still have Capry; that owl sure knows how to follow orders."

"Shove it," Harry snapped, tossing his bag onto the ground and stomping into the Gryffindor changing rooms to grab his broom. By the time he emerged he felt as if he was going to explode with rage. What right did this stuck up pureblood Death Eater have to break up his only real friendship? Just because he was bitter about being abandoned by the Slytherins he had thought cared about him didn't give him the right to go meddling in other people's business. Then again, maybe that had been the plan all along, to get close enough to Harry to ruin his life. Harry would hardly be surprised, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time he was at the wrong end of a Malfoy plot. "Ten galleons," Harry said with no preamble.

"What about ten galleons?" Malfoy asked. "That how much money you've got left in the bank?"

They both knew Harry was rich, and Harry assumed the statement was meant as playful banter. But he was in no mood to be playful, or to speak any more than necessary, lest something come out of his mouth that he would regret. Not that he could think of anything he could possibly regret saying to Malfoy at this point. "That's the bet," Harry replied, mounting his broom.

"Not so fast, Potter," Malfoy said, reaching out and grabbing his arm to prevent another premature takeoff. "Who says ten galleon's enough? Last we played, the stakes were quite a bit higher."

"Yeah, and I'm not getting into that again," Harry snapped, causing Malfoy to raise an eyebrow. "Make it twenty if ten is too lowly to be worth playing for."

"Fifty," Malfoy countered, "and only if you'll tell me what's got you so upset."

"Then make it a hundred," Harry said, finally having the presence of mind to wrench his arm free of Malfoy's grip. "The last thing I want to do tonight is talk."

"If you say so," Malfoy replied, mounting his own broom. "But know that we Malfoys take our money very seriously."

"Oh, come off it," Harry said, annoyed at the pretentiousness that only earlier that day had seemed more amusing than irritating. He kicked off, but remained close to the ground, hovering only a few feet in the air. "Are we on or not?"

"A hundred galleons it is," Malfoy agreed, joining Harry at hovering just above the ground.

"Brilliant," Harry said, and rocketed into the air. Malfoy rose just as fast but in the opposite direction, and Harry was grateful for the lack of conversation. Maybe, just this once, Malfoy was bothering to note how upset Harry was, and to give him the quiet he so obviously wanted.

The temperature was starting to drop again along with the sun, but Harry found he liked the biting of the wind. It worked to calm his temper, or at least take the edge off. He knew his hands would be numb in a matter of minutes, making grasping both his broom and the snitch harder, but he welcomed the challenge. He rose as high as practical and began circling the field, a flash of anger searing through him every time Malfoy flew into his vision. He was tempted, so tempted, to yell at him, scream at the top of his lungs, hex him from here to the end of time, but he kept his mouth shut for reasons he didn't care to admit. If Ron and Hermione were really out of his life, Harry supposed one friend was better than none, even if he hated him.

The sun seemed to set faster than usual, and soon they were playing in pitch black. Harry remembered Dumbledore's Deluminator, stomach twisting. Both Dumbledore and Ron were out of his life, and Harry doubted he'd ever see the Deluminator again. Apparently Malfoy was thinking along the same lines, because he cast a spell Harry didn't catch, and suddenly the field was ringed in soft light. It wasn't very bright—Harry could see only Malfoy's outline and roughly were his features were, and he was only a few yards away. The sudden realization of proximity surprised them both, but once the shock dissipated, they were off again, keeping quiet as they circled the field.

Harry's eyes slowly adjusted, and he realized there was, in fact, just enough light to see the snitch, if he got lucky. He couldn't bear to lose to Malfoy again, not twice in one day, not after what he had done. If Malfoy was going to ruin his friendships, Harry would see to it that his reputation as a decent seeker was just as bad. In fact, he vowed to never let Malfoy win another match.

The game seemed to go on forever, time stretching like taffy as they circled, hawk-like, eyes peeled for the slightest hint of gold. But there were no false alarms, no diving at rocks this time. The air was filled with an insurmountable tension, building with every minute that slid past. Harry found the whole process to be almost meditative, and by the time he saw the snitch, most of his anger had melted away. It was clear across the other end of the field, barely visible, but Harry knew he would catch it, knew Malfoy wouldn't even see it coming. He gently swooped towards it, not drawing attention to himself, and the end of the game was entirely unclimactic. Harry's frozen fingers closed around the warm snitch, and the lights Malfoy had cast faded away to nothing. Harry stayed where he was as his eyes adjusted to the utter darkness, then glided over to the other end of the field, dismounting in front of Malfoy.

The tension from the game was gone, replaced with a near suffocating blanket of silence. Neither seemed intent on breaking it, so Harry merely handed the snitch back to Malfoy, who had by unspoken agreement come to be in charge of the ball. As he passed it over their fingers brushed, just for a second, and a jolt shot up Harry's arm. His eyes flew to meet Malfoy's, who looked just as surprised as he felt. Then they both looked away, going to their separate changing rooms. Harry tucked his broom away and went back outside to wait for Malfoy, who had to change out of his Quidditch robes. He emerged a few minutes later, Capry flying around his head, and they walked side by side to the castle door.

Harry stopped at the bottom of the stairs, Malfoy walking up two steps before realizing he was alone. He turned to study Harry, their height difference drastically accentuated in this position.

"Why'd you do it?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Do what?"

Harry couldn't tell if he was teasing him or not, and the anger started to come back. "Send that last owl. I told you I was with Ron and Hermione, you had to know how they'd react."

Malfoy tilted his head to the side, and Harry sensed he was trying to decide between the truth and a lie. "For fun," he said eventually, and Harry could tell immediately that was the lie.

Harry pursed his lips, trying to decide how far to pursue the matter. His anger was no longer fiery and wild, but a longer-lasting slow burning, like glowing coals. He thought he could wait out Malfoy's pride for as long as it took, but he also felt he was due an answer. Even Capry seemed to understand the seriousness of the conversation and took off, leaving the boys completely alone. "You owe me a real answer, Malfoy."

"I do, do I?" he asked softly, walking down the two steps and standing just in front of Harry. Something in the air between them sparked, and Harry found it fit in nicely with his newfound coals of anger. It seemed only fitting that the dull heat inside him would manifest in the air itself. "And why would you say that, Harry?"

It was the first time Malfoy had used his given name without a hint of malice, and Harry found he rather liked it. "Because I never did anything to you," Harry replied. "All I ever did was try to stop you from bringing about the end of the world, and even then I never butted into your personal life, never did anything to you personally. It could have been anyone." Harry hadn't even realized that until he spoke it, startling both himself and Malfoy. The idea that their entire relationship, that all seven years of hatred, was based on what amounted to nothing more than coincidence seemed ridiculous.

"I did it because you didn't take my hand," Malfoy replied.

Harry stared at him, drawing a blank. What on earth was he talking about? Take his hand when, for what? Malfoy sighed impatiently, clearly not pleased with Harry for not understanding. "That first day, on the Hogwarts train. I offered you my hand. You did 'butt into' my personal life, you have been ever since that first day when you refused to be friends. You didn't even know me, didn't know my family, and yet you blindly trusted Weasley to guide you through the wizarding world without even a look back. You knew him no better than I, yet you chose him over me. And for what?" Malfoy let out a harsh laugh. "Who knows how things would have turned out otherwise? Perhaps my family wouldn't even have been involved in the war, perhaps my father would not be standing trial for war crimes sure to send him to Azkaban for the rest of his life. Or maybe you would have joined us, and the Dark Lord would be ruling all the world by now. We'll never know."

Harry's head spun with the idea. He hadn't thought about that first day in ages, and Malfoy was right, he hadn't ever questioned his decision to follow Ron instead of Malfoy. But he had, and here they were. Without thinking, Harry reached out and took Malfoy's hand in his. Malfoy's eyes flew open in shock as Harry felt how smooth his hand was, how long and delicate his fingers were. He rubbed small circles with his thumb as he said, "I still hate you for what you did." Harry was well aware his actions and words were polar opposites, but that seemed only natural. "Not during the war, or the years before. You did what you had to do, just like the rest of us. But you didn't have to come between me and Ron and Hermione to get my attention."

With cat-like speed and elegance, Malfoy leaned over and brushed his lips against Harry's cheek, a chaste and somehow graceful kiss. "If that's the case, I whole-heartedly apologize," he said, so softly Harry could barely hear him, and would've missed it entirely if Malfoy's face hadn't been so close to his. He had a sudden urge to turn his cheek to meet Malfoy's, but he resisted, instead trying to steady himself. There was also the possibility he could barely hear Malfoy's words due to the blood roaring through his ears. His mouth was dry, his palms sweaty, his fingers shaking, and he let go of Malfoy's hand before he could feel any of that.

"I've never heard you apologize before," Harry said.

"I've never had cause," Malfoy replied.

The silence started to stretch out again, but this time Harry broke it, and with a mundane statement. "I never got dinner," he said.

Malfoy smirked, or at least almost smirked. It was softer than the expression Harry was used to, and he wondered if this was a one-time thing, or if that was how he would always look now. "I didn't see you in the Great Hall," Malfoy responded. "Figured you had eaten early."

"I was taking a nap," Harry replied. "Someone woke me up at the crack of dawn this morning, and then proceeded to make my day a living hell. I needed a break."

"Well then, what do you propose we do about this dilemma?" Malfoy asked, eyes sparkling in the shadowy light emanating from Hogwarts' many windows.

"We could go down to the kitchens," Harry suggested.

Malfoy grimaced. "I hate eating there," he said. "All those house elves all in one place. It's not natural."

Harry had to suppress a smile. Malfoy really was a spoiled prat. "The Room of Requirement, then. I'm sure it'll have something to eat."

Malfoy shuddered. "I haven't been in there since you saved my life."

"Well, with your followers out of the way, we should be safe," Harry said, letting a slight nasty edge come into his words. The slow-burning hatred wasn't gone, maybe never would be, but Harry found it soothing. Some things would never change. "Come on." Harry climbed the steps and went inside without bothering to see if Malfoy was following him. There was a brief moment, more panicky than Harry liked to admit, when he thought he was alone, but then Malfoy appeared at his side. By the time they arrived at the seventh floor corridor, Malfoy had grown cold and distant, despite never straying from Harry's side or saying a single word.

Harry paced in front of the blank wall, trying to think of the perfect room, but all he could come up with was silence and peace of mind, two things he was short on but was sure to need. _And food_, he thought at the last pass. A wooden door materialized in front of them, and Harry opened it, but kept his back to the room, eyes on Malfoy. "I didn't ask you to follow me," Harry said. "I still hate you, remember? If you don't want to come in, don't." He turned and entered the room, nearly tripping over an overstuffed purple couch a few feet from the door. There was a good chance he would have gone tumbling over it if Malfoy hadn't grabbed his shoulder, steadying him.

"I'm not afraid of a bloody room, Potter," he snapped, sounding more like his usual self than he had all night.

"Alright then." The door closed behind them, and Harry took in their surroundings. There was barely room for the two of them to stand between the door and the couch; the room was tiny, only slightly larger than the broom cupboard Harry had grown up in. He found the size comforting, as well as the fireplace, taking up almost the whole wall opposite him. There were no windows so there was no chance of a surprise owl, though he couldn't think who would be owling him at this particular moment, since Ron and Hermione weren't speaking to him and Malfoy was at his side. There was a small hatch in the wall to his right, and Harry figured it led down to the kitchens. Harry squeezed his way between the couch and the wall and opened the hatch. The smell of freshly cooked chicken wafted through the room, making his mouth water. A plate sat in the middle of the hatch, a chicken breast on one side and mashed potatoes on the other. Harry grinned and took it out, propping himself on the arm of the couch and quickly devouring the meal. He put the plate back inside and closed the door, vaguely wondering if dessert would appear later.

Harry scooted himself around and sat down properly, snuggling into the corner and sighing contentedly. He glanced over at Malfoy; he was draped gracefully over the couch, one arm resting lightly on the armrest, the other folded neatly on his lap. His long legs were stretched out and Harry saw he had taken off his shoes, leaving his feet to absorb the warmth of the fire. His eyes were closed, and a small smile graced his face. Harry thought he might actually be happy. Harry kicked off his own shoes and mirrored Malfoy's position, finding it absolutely delightful. They were just far enough away from the fireplace that it was warm but not burning, and the couch cushions sank down just the right amount, molding themselves to his shape.

Malfoy opened his eyes and rolled his head so he was facing Harry, a complicated look on his face. "If you hate me so much, why did you invite me in?"

"I hate you just the right amount," Harry replied, unable to help a smile from spreading across his face. "It keeps me from going crazy and thinking I've abandoned my friends to join the dark side."

"So why did you invite me in?" Malfoy repeated.

"Everyone either hates me or fawns over me," Harry said, lulled into telling the truth by the warm fire and the comfy couch. "The only people I cared about aren't talking to me, thanks to you, and the rest of the students are insufferable." Harry paused for a moment, thinking that he was starting to sound like Malfoy. The hatred flared up a little, then settled down. He knew he would never be like Malfoy, there was no need to worry about that. "And when I'm alone, I can't help thinking about last year, about the final battle. It's better to have someone close by."

Malfoy stayed quiet for a moment, then said, "We're not that dissimilar, you and I." How was it that his words echoed Harry's thoughts so closely? "But at least I'll never be a simpering Gryffindor."

"Nor I a backstabbing, slimy Slytherin," Harry replied, still wondering at how closely they were following each other's thoughts.

Malfoy turned his head so he was looking at the ceiling again. "I did come back, you know. After the battle. My parents put up quite a fight, but eventually I convinced Mother, and she can always get Father to do whatever she wants. Even if I didn't fight, at least I came back."

"I know, I saw," Harry replied. He moved so he was facing Malfoy, arms curled around knees tucked up to his chest. "You were never as bad as all that."

Malfoy's small smile returned. "And I lowered my wand."

"That you did."

"Plus, you cursed me, that night in the bathroom."

Harry sighed. Malfoy made it so easy to hate him. "I didn't know what the spell did."

"All the worse," Malfoy replied. "Never attack a man while he's crying, Harry. It's not polite."

Harry snorted. Then again, Malfoy was equally as charming, in an odd sort of way. "Right, I'll remember that." Then he realized Malfoy had used his first name again, and his stomach turned over pleasantly.

"Though I suppose I was going to Crucio you," Malfoy—or was it Draco now?—mused. "If I could've stopped crying. Maybe that makes us even."

_We'll never be even, not while I killed Voldemort and you housed him_, Harry thought, considered saying, then decided it was too self-righteous. "You owe me a hundred galleons," he said instead. "That's hardly even."

Malfoy sighed dramatically. "I'll go to Gringotts next chance I get." He remained quiet for a minute, then added, "I also saved your life at my manor, when I told them I didn't recognize you."

"Shut up, would you?" Harry replied, a little snippy. "I came here to get some peace and quiet, not to go over everything you've done to me over the past seven years."

"I'd hardly call saving your life something I did to you, but all right, if you insist," Malfoy said haughtily. "What would you have us discuss?"

"Nothing," Harry replied. "That match took forever, and I'm exhausted. Let's just go to sleep."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Here?"

"Leave if you'd like," Harry said, trying to keep his voice neutral and not betray how much he wanted his new friend to stay. "It'll give me more room to stretch out."

Malfoy snorted. "As if I'm getting off this couch." He fell silent, then made a slight noise of surprise. "Suddenly the couch is a chaise," he said with mild amusement. "Much better for sleeping."

Harry found there was a pile of neatly folded blankets on the floor in front of him. He tossed one at Malfoy, then curled up under the other. "My end isn't," he muttered, squirming around, trying to find a comfortable position. Eventually he ended up with his head resting against the arm of the couch and his legs curled between him and Malfoy, just barely not brushing him. "Just so you know," Harry yawned, "I have a tendency to be woken up at all hours of the night by an obnoxious owl."

"And just so you know," Malfoy echoed, "I never sleep."

Harry paused, debating whether or not to tell Malfoy that he had nightmares. He was afraid he might come off sounding weak and foolish, but he also thought it might be nice to warn Malfoy he might be woken up by screams in the middle of the night. Then again, if he truly never slept, Harry supposed it wouldn't be an issue. But if he wanted to avoid a reflex hex, he should probably say something.

"Malfoy?" he said quietly. There was no response. "Draco?" Still nothing. Harry prodded him gently with his foot. It seemed the boy who never slept was asleep already. Harry smiled to himself. Somehow, that felt like a victory, much better than a hundred galleon prize. Harry snuggled further into the couch and closed his eyes. After all, he hadn't had nightmares last night. Maybe he'd get lucky twice in a row.


	7. Chapter 7: And So It Begins

**A/N: **So this one's a little…something or other. I feel like things might be moving a bit too fast between the two, but I haven't figured out a solution yet, and I'm a little chagrined to say that my ideas for the next chapter don't exactly help. In any case, I hope you enjoy, and don't find the whole thing too out of character. Besides, I think we all know that Malfoy is secretly a softie at heart, especially when it comes to Harry.

Also, a quick note on the food in the Room of Requirement: I actually did know that it can't transfigure food, which is why there wasn't merely a feast laid out before them; instead there was a hatch that descended to the kitchens, where the house elves could prepare and send up a meal. I figure providing a link to food doesn't count as producing it itself, yeah?

**Chapter Seven:**

_**And So It Begins.**_

_Harry stood on the island in the center of the dark lake in the cavern, a pale green light emanating from no discernable source. He turned to his left, where Dumbledore should have been sitting, but the space was empty. His heart began to race; how could he be expected to leave without Dumbledore at his side?_

_He walked over to the stone bowl and found it empty, save for the shell he had used to feed Dumbledore the potion. He patted his pockets; ah, the fake Horcrux resided in his right front pocket. He pulled it out and opened it; a folded note lay inside. He took the note out and opened it._

Why don't you go for a swim? _it suggested._

_Harry looked at the water surrounding him. It was a greenish black, swirling with something Harry couldn't imagine. Go for a swim? It was mad. He looked at the note again._

I'll keep you safe, I promise.

_The last time Harry had encountered paper whose words held a conversation with him, it had been Riddle's diary. Given where he was standing, it seemed only reasonable that this note was from Voldemort, urging him into a certainly lethal situation._

_Harry sat down and began to unlace his shoes, pulling them off, then his socks. He slipped his slacks down, raised his jumper over his head and threw it on his other clothes. Yes, a swim sounded nice._

_Harry walked over to the edge of the island and looked down into the water. He couldn't tell deep the water was; should he dive in, or simply lower himself off the edge? He glanced at the note, which somehow lay open on top of his clothes._

Dive right in_, it said_. The water goes down far deeper than you could fathom.

_Right then, Harry thought. He closed his eyes and dove._

_The water was freezing, yet he was somehow insulated. He swam down a ways, keeping an eye out for Inferi, but he seemed to be alone. He could hardly see anything, and reached for his wand before realizing he had left it with his clothes, on the island. Though he knew he should have panicked, he felt at peace, like nothing could hurt him here, even if he couldn't see._

"_Harry."_

_The voice came from behind him, speaking clearly even though underwater. Harry turned, and saw Voldemort in front of him, robes flowing around him and eyes locking with Harry's. Harry still felt calm, and even found himself smiling._

"_Hello," he replied, finding that he, too, could speak perfectly clearly. In fact, he could breathe as well, the water seeming to serve no purpose whatsoever. Other than concealing where Voldemort had been hiding, of course._

_Voldemort smiled back, his snake-like face twisting into a grin. "We meet at last on equal footing. No wands, no friends, nobody watching to see what happens. Just the two of us." He paused. "How do you find me now?"_

_Harry didn't know how to answer. He certainly wasn't afraid, nor was he angry, or desiring revenge. Instead Harry felt a pull towards him, the one usually reserved for his meetings with Dumbledore._

_Voldemort's smile widened, and Harry realized his enemy could read his mind. "Give me your left arm," he said. Harry did as he was told, and Voldemort said something in a language he had never heard before. Dark lines started to spread across Harry's forearm, twisting and twining, forming the shape of a skull with a snake crawling through it. The Dark Mark. "Now you're one of us," Voldemort said. "Come." He tightened his grip on Harry's arm, and suddenly they were standing in front of Hogwarts, in the middle of the final battle. Harry could see his friends dying before him—George, Lupin, Tonks, even the Creevey boys—and felt laughter bubbling up._

"_They don't stand a chance," Harry said. "Not without me."_

"_No indeed," Voldemort said. "Within a matter of hours we will have taken Hogwarts, and then we'll move on to the rest of England. Before long, every witch and wizard in the world will have either joined us or succumbed to us."_

_Harry smiled. "Excellent."_

Harry awoke with a jerk, blinding reaching out for his wand and finding nothing other than thin air. He was panting and sweating heavily, threads of his dream racing through his brain. It hadn't been the words that were so terrifying, though now that he was awake the thought of what he had said sickened him. No, it was the peaceful calm that he had felt, standing next to Voldemort during the final battle. It was always this way; he always joined Voldemort without a second thought, always took delight in his friends' deaths, was always excited to continue the conquest. And, worst of all, it always felt so right, like he was finally doing what he was meant for.

He felt someone stirring next to him, and fear gripped his heart. He was awake, wasn't he? This wasn't some new, twisted version of the dream? But his glasses were off and the room was dark, and he realized he didn't even know where he was, let alone who was sitting on the couch next to him.

"Potter?" a voice slurred with sleep said.

Harry reached for his wand again, but his bedside table was still absent, and in his panic he couldn't think of where else he could have put it. "Who's there?" he demanded, blinking his eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness.

He felt more movement, then the voice again, this time confused. "It's Malfoy, you dolt. What's wrong with you?"

The world doubled; on one side, Harry was convinced he was still dreaming, and Malfoy was about to kill him. He didn't know what he was doing here, wherever here was, but like his visit with Voldemort he didn't have his wand, had no way to deflect whatever curse was about to be thrown at him. The other half clicked into place as Harry remembered he was in the Room of Requirement, that he and Malfoy had fallen asleep on the couch, and his wand was no doubt on the floor next to him. He wasn't in any danger, and he could relax. But the dream's grip on him was still too powerful for Harry to be absolutely certain which world was real, and he still couldn't catch his breath, couldn't loosen his grip on the pillows.

More movement, then a muttered, "Lumos," and Harry could see Malfoy's face in the dim light. He looked confused and, if Harry wasn't mistaken, concerned, and that seemed to point in the direction of this being reality. Certainly in a dream Malfoy would have already killed him, right? "Potter, seriously, what's wrong? You're as pale as I am."

Harry grabbed Malfoy's hand, the one holding the wand, and pointed the light at his own left arm. It was bare, his skin unblemished. No Dark Mark. Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief, and finally managed to unclench his muscles. "Nightmare," he said shortly, releasing Malfoy.

Malfoy eyed him contemplatively. "D'you want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head. He had never told anyone this dream, and he certainly wasn't about to start with Malfoy. "It was just a bad dream, nothing more."

"You're shaking," Malfoy observed, and Harry realized it was true. He renewed his grip on the couch, willing himself still.

"I'm fine," he said through clenched teeth.

"Liar." Malfoy scooted over so he was sitting next to Harry, though with the other boy facing him, Harry's knees were blocking him from getting any closer.

"Sod off," Harry replied, though there wasn't any fight in his voice. He was too busy trying to get his shaking under control, and dealing with the sudden realization that he was near tears. He _would not_ cry in front of Malfoy, no matter how many times he dreamed about joining Voldemort. He was stronger than that, damnit. Malfoy reached out and brushed a hand along Harry's cheek. Harry jerked back, pushing himself further against the arm of the couch.

"Let me help you," Malfoy said softly. "I'm no stranger to nightmares myself."

Harry remained in his current position, keeping Malfoy at bay. He wished for Ron, or Hermione, or even Neville; anyone who wouldn't reinforce the idea that he was turning over to Voldemort's side. "I wouldn't have thought a Death Eater willing to help me," Harry said, spitting out the insult.

Malfoy jolted, as if slapped. "I'm not…I mean, I haven't—"

Harry grabbed his left arm, pulling up the long sleeve, revealing the very real Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm. "What do you call that?"

He jerked free, quickly pulling his sleeve back down. "Something I had no control over, _Potter_," he snapped.

Harry glared at him, uncertain of what his next move should be. Part of him wanted to get up and storm out of the room, back to his familiar bed in his familiar room. Another part of him, the part that was starting to finally relax after the nightmare, was sorely tempted to take Malfoy up on his offer of comfort, whatever that meant. "I'm sorry," he said eventually, though his tone was hard.

"You're forgiven," Malfoy sneered, matching Harry's sincerity. "Shall I leave you to stew in your dream, with only your tortured soul to keep you company?" When Harry again failed to answer right away, Malfoy stood, eyes hard chips of grey. Harry hadn't seen him look so cold all year, though he was hardly a stranger to the expression. "Right then." He turned to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Wait," he said, almost begrudgingly. "Don't do that."

Malfoy turned to face him, an eyebrow delicately raised. "Do what? Leave you all alone in the mean, scary dark?"

Harry scowled at him. "You're not making this easy."

"Making what easy?" Malfoy asked, needling his way to the core of the matter. Harry was certain that if he wanted Malfoy to stay, if he did want the comfort, Malfoy was going to make him say it, every embarrassing, humiliating word.

"Getting you to be decent," Harry replied snappily, aware that wasn't helping, and was perhaps moving in the opposite direction of what he wanted.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "I told you, I'm never decent."

"Sit back down," Harry said grudgingly.

To his surprise, Malfoy did as he was asked without needing his ego stroked any further. He faced Harry, curled up in an identical position, no doubt looking much more graceful than Harry felt. "And?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Light a fire?" he said, more of a question. He could see the room lightening through his eyelids, and feel the warmth radiating out to him. Malfoy muttered _Nox_, no longer needing wand-light.

"What else?" he prodded, clearly taking joy from the situation.

The coals of anger Harry had discovered in himself were slowly heating up. He had had a bloody nightmare, the worst of the lot he was plagued with, and Malfoy was playing with him.

_He wouldn't be, if you hadn't been such a prat and had accepted his friendship in the first place_, a voice in the back of Harry's head piped up.

_Shut up,_ he thought angrily.

"Just...do whatever it was you were going to do," he forced out, not sure at all his statement was clear.

"I see," Malfoy said cryptically. "You'll have to lower the fortress of your knees, then, and turn so you're not completely blocking me." Harry felt the warmth from the anger-coals move to his stomach, twisting it into a knot. What exactly was Malfoy planning on doing? "Potter," Malfoy said warning. "I don't have all night."

Feeling incredibly exposed for such a simple, undemanding act, Harry did as he was instructed, turning to face the fire, and discovered that his side of the couch now also had a chaise. He stretched his legs out, both knees popping from the release of pressure.

Malfoy was suddenly next to him, pressing their sides together, finding his hand and twining his fingers through Harry's, holding his hand with both of his. Harry stayed still with shock, having no idea whatsoever on how to proceed. Malfoy leaned his head on Harry's shoulder and stretched his legs out as well, nearly knocking Harry's off the edge of the couch. "All you had to do was ask," Malfoy said softly, voice almost a sigh. "Everyone has nightmares now, most of all those of us involved in the final battle. I assume that was what you were dreaming about?"

Harry shook his head mutely, still not willing to share his nightmare, though even if he had wanted to, he wasn't sure he could speak. Not only had he never seen this side of Malfoy, he hadn't even known it existed, and if told about it, would have gotten a good laugh. Malfoy waited in silence, letting Harry get used to the closeness, both of their bodies and of the questions he was asking.

"I'm not a Death Eater," Harry croaked eventually.

Malfoy's head shot up, eyes wide. "What on earth are you talking about? Even the daftest wizard could see that."

"I was almost sorted into Slytherin," Harry said, secrets pouring from his lips before he could stop them. He was hazy from such close proximity with Malfoy, and entirely too confused by the whole situation to determine a planned course of action. "I could have taken your hand on the train and I could have been a Slytherin. Dumbledore always said it was the choices we make that define us, but…" He trailed off, unsure of what exactly his "but" was.

Malfoy kept eye contact for another moment before resting his head back on Harry's shoulder. "You are the farthest thing from a Death Eater I could possibly imagine," he said. "I don't know what nonsense your nightmare was, but I promise you, you don't have to worry about that."

Harry rather liked the idea of his nightmare reduced to mere nonsense, especially said in such a dismissive, confident voice. Nevertheless, Harry rubbed his left arm nervously, on the spot where the Dark Mark would be if he had one. Malfoy grabbed his other hand and held it down firmly, and now both of Harry's hands were wrapped in Malfoy's. He was surprised at the strength in his fingers; he had always thought of Malfoy as so delicate, almost breakable, but he had a sinewy, unexpected strength that Harry found unexpectedly reassuring.

"Stop being an idiot," Malfoy instructed commandingly. "If you'd like a list of your faults I'd be more than happy to oblige, but even you are smart enough to keep such ridiculous notions off it."

Harry smiled a little at Malfoy's familiar arrogance. "Fine, then," he replied, leaning his head on Malfoy's.

"Now shut up so I can get back to sleep," Malfoy snapped, falling completely back into his usual air. Or would have, were he not cuddled against Harry. "This is the first time I've slept in at least a week, and I have every intention of getting another couple hours."

Harry gently nuzzled the top of Malfoy's head, and got a reassuring hand-squeeze in exchange. Maybe that was a sign Malfoy was still willing to talk if Harry needed to, or maybe he was just imagining things.

"G'night then."

"Shut up," Malfoy repeated quietly. Harry closed his eyes, and despite the fact that he usually couldn't fall back asleep after his nightmares, he found himself easily slipping away.

"Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll beat you to a bloody pulp."

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.

This time, Harry woke up slowly and peaceably. There had been no follow-up nightmare, no dreams at all, and he actually felt well-rested, despite his mid-night panic. He even remembered where he was without having to think about it, and who the person draped across his chest with a leg wrapped around his was. Harry didn't know when Malfoy's position had changed, but he found he didn't mind. He and Ginny had never shared a bed, and certainly not with Cho, making this the first time he had woken up in someone else's embrace. Harry thought he could all-too-easily get used to, maybe even addicted, to the sensation. Never before had the thought of sleeping in his own bed in Gryffindor tower seemed so desolately lonely, let alone Grimmauld Place.

Harry wrapped an arm around the still-sleeping Malfoy, drawing him closer. Malfoy hummed quietly in the back of his throat, tightening his grip on Harry. "What time's it?" he muttered half-coherently.

"Dunno," Harry said, remarkably unconcerned. Their first class was potions, and he thought the both of them had enough goodwill with Slughorn to get away with being late.

"Mmm," Malfoy said, on the verge of falling back asleep. Then he stiffened, and Harry figured he had become aware of his position. "Harry…er, Potter, I—"

"Shut up," Harry said lightly, echoing Malfoy's words from the night before. "And don't you dare move."

Malfoy settled back down, still a little tense. Harry wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't used to cuddling, or because of whom he was cuddling with, and he didn't really care to know the answer.

"This isn't how I was expecting to wake up," Malfoy said in a tone Harry didn't understand at all.

"What, did you think we'd be spooning naked?" Harry joked, but Malfoy immediately stiffened again, and Harry's stomach twisted. "It was just a joke," he muttered.

Much to Harry's disappointment, Malfoy sat up, untangling his legs from Harry's and letting his feet rest on the floor. Harry noticed a faint blush on his cheeks, and a tightness in his voice as he said, "I imagine we're about to be late for class, if we aren't already."

Harry eyed Malfoy, causing the other boy to squirm slightly. What was it about his words that had set him off so? _Was_ that what he had wanted to happen? The thought caused Harry's stomach to tighten further. "Most likely," Harry said, watching the chaise vanish so he could stand up. He stretched, neck cracking from again sleeping sitting upright. Harry suddenly cringed. "Shit, I forgot to do my potions essay."

Malfoy laughed lightly, all tension gone from his voice. "I never planned on doing it in the first place. I've got Slughorn wrapped around my finger."

Harry rolled his eyes at the pretentiousness. He grabbed his book bag, slinging it over a shoulder. "Ready?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow in his signature gesture. "You're going to leave looking like that?"

Harry glanced down at himself. His clothes were a little rumpled, but no more than usual, and he had shoved his feet back in his trainers, not bothering to re-lace them. "Yeah, so?"

Malfoy sighed, reached over and ran his hands through Harry's hair. "You look ridiculous," he said, and Harry had to bite back an unknown noise at the sensation. "If we're going to walk into potions, together, late, without our work done, I'd rather it not look like we spent the whole night shagging."

Harry flushed, though he did note the wisdom of Malfoy's words. "And how'd you manage to wake up with perfect hair?" he asked as Malfoy tried to neaten his own, largely failing.

Malfoy smirked. "A handy little charm my father taught me. A Malfoy is never seen in public looking anything short of perfect." Harry rolled his eyes as Malfoy finally gave up on his hair. "I suppose that'll have to do," he said, picking up his own bag. They squirmed around the edges of the couch and left, Harry only slightly dreading the looks he'd be getting from Ron when they arrived.

Sure enough, as soon as they entered the dungeon, all conversation stopped and all eyes descended on the pair. Slughorn was the only one who seemed to see nothing odd in their company, and said, "Hurry up, boys, and take your seats," sounding miffed. "We're working on healing potions, and if you don't get settled quickly enough, you'll run out of time."

Harry wondered briefly if this was what the fabled walk of shame felt like as he crept down the room, Ron's eyes especially hard as Harry passed him. Malfoy, of course, stood as tall and proud as always, and Harry cursed him for being so confident. They sat down together, again at the last table on the right, and got out their things, the stares eventually dissipating as the students returned to their potions.

"I don't know why we're bothering with healing potions," Malfoy said haughtily. "I've been doing these since I was three."

Harry rolled his eyes, and flipped open to the correct chapter. "Oh, really? You can make your own Skele-Grow, then?"

Malfoy grabbed Harry's book, staring at the page in disbelief. "We're doing Skele-Grow?" he asked incredulously. "Not even Madame Pomfry could brew that herself."

Harry smirked at Malfoy's expression. "Better get to work then."


	8. Chapter 8: Toeing the line

**A/N: **I hope this chapter makes you guys happy, rather than yell at me for how fast things are moving! The next chapter also moves a little quickly, but I promise those two steps back I mentioned earlier soon enough. In fact, I'm about to run off and write that now, so no worries.

Also, how d'you fancy the new DADA professor? I wasn't sure where to go with her character, but I'm rather pleased with myself for how she turned out. Certainly a step up from the Carrows, yeah?

So let's see…I think that's it for now. The next chapter has already been written and edited, as is ready to go up tomorrow. I went on a bit of a writing binge last night, and only the power of Bones was enough to jerk me out of it. In any rate, enjoy!

**Chapter Eight:**

_**Toeing the line.**_

While the slug-spewing armor had escaped public knowledge, Harry and Malfoy's entrance into potions most certainly had not. Even by his next class, History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, he was getting stares, and a few sniggers for good measure. Harry settled in the back of the classroom, wishing for the days when he could just sit next to Hermione and copy her notes. Having to actually listen to the lecture was another form of torture, and by the time class let out, Harry was more than ready for lunch.

Or so he thought. He stood just outside the doors to the Great Hall, replaying the previous class, and thinking if the thirty or so students there had been so bad, what would an entire Hall full of them be like? He thought instead he'd eat lunch in the kitchen, solitude far better than trying to avoid Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the French girls, and all the stares and snide remarks he was sure to get. So instead of going inside, he slinked down to the kitchens, avoiding eye contact with everything but his feet.

Despite the hundred or so elves, Harry realized with a tug that the room seemed empty without Dobby. Harry sat at the table by the fireplace with a heavy heart, trying not to think of all the times he had been down here with Ron and Hermione, finding himself even missing SPEW. While the meal that quickly appeared in front of him was delicious, Harry merely picked at it dejectedly, not doing much more than wasting time until his next class. He wasn't sure about Hermione, but Ron would definitely be there—Hermione, in one of her many summer letters had managed to coordinate their schedules so the two boys were taking the same classes, figuring they'd have a higher chance of passing if they were in it together. Harry angrily stabbed his fork at his peas at the memories of all the studying he and Ron had done together.

"Is Sir's meal unsatisfactory?" a house elf squeaked, appearing at Harry's elbow.

"It's fine," Harry muttered.

The house elf hopped nervously from one foot to the other. "Is Sir sure?" he asked. "Sir doesn't seem to have—"

"I said it's fine!" Harry snapped, causing the elf to quickly scamper away. He sighed; there was no point in taking out his anger on house elves. It wasn't their fault he wasn't speaking to Ron, or that the entirety of Hogwarts was prejudiced against his friendship with Malfoy. Hermione had been right; the uniting of the wizard world was crucial, and Harry even figured it was an honor to Dumbledore's memory that he was friends with Malfoy, as backward as that sounded.

_Friends, eh?_ a voice in the back of his head chimed in. _He certainly did seem friendly last night…_

"Oh, shut it!" Harry yelled out loud, severely startling several nearby house elves. He threw his fork onto the mostly-full plate and stormed out of the kitchens and up to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Of all the classes he was taking this year, he couldn't think of a more ridiculous choice, but if he wanted to be an Auror, he needed the credits. Harry hoped, no doubt fruitlessly, that this new Professor Whisp would recognize who he was and give him a pass, though he doubted it. Hogwarts was not known for hiring professors who could be wooed by such a thing as a name or a scar, Slughorn aside.

Harry was one of the first to arrive, but he saw with a sinking feeling that one of the other students already there was a Slytherin. In all likelihood that meant Malfoy was going to show up, and Harry had been too busy stewing in anger at Ron to figure out a plan on how to deal with Malfoy, though perhaps the phrase "dealing with him" was a little harsh. In any case, Harry yet again sat at the back of the classroom, wishing he could use his cloak. The lone Slytherin was soon joined by Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, who were staring at Harry and whispering.

_Bloody brilliant_, Harry thought angrily, propping up his book so as to avoid their prying eyes. Slowly the room began to fill, Ron (indeed accompanied by Hermione; Harry should've known) sitting in the second row, not sparing a glance back at Harry. Hermione did send him a sympathetic glance, but quickly returned her attention to Ron.

At the very last minute Malfoy sauntered into the room, yet again seeming completely unbothered by the staring that followed his every move. Harry couldn't tell if he was surprised or not that Malfoy sat down next to him, eyes dancing with something Harry didn't quite understand.

"Since we were outed this morning, I figure it can't hurt to sit together," Malfoy said, sounding almost…cheerful? Harry did not miss the phrase he had used, and felt himself flush.

"Yeah, alright then."

"You're in a foul mood, I see," Malfoy drawled, his high spirits grating against Harry's nerves.

"I bloody hate being stared at," Harry mumbled angrily.

"I would've thought you'd be used to it by now," Malfoy replied. "Seeing as—"

He was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking as a black figure crashed through the window, wand raised. Harry was immediately at his feet, wand drawn, the rest of the class merely staring in shocked silence.

"_Crucio!_" the figure yelled, wand pointed directly at Ron.

"_Protego!_" Harry bellowed, and a shimmering blue jet shot out of his wand, the protection spell flaring out to cover Ron just in time. Harry's heart was in his stomach and his blood pounding in his ears, but he wasn't panicking; in fact he was eerily calm.

The figure whirled in Harry's direction. "_Imperius!"_ it shrieked.

Harry felt the familiar fingers crawling through his mind, squeezing at his brain, and the urge to throw his wand down on the floor was almost insurmountable. Almost. "_Stupefy!"_ Harry yelled instead, and the figure paused. Harry had the idea that it was…impressed? Could that be right? In any case, his curse was expertly deflected.

"_Sectumse—"_

"_Expelliarmus_!" The jets of light hit midair, Harry forcing every ounce of energy he had down his wand. Slowly, torturously so, his light took over the other curse, and the figure's wand flew into the air, across the room, and into Harry's outstretched hand. He stood, panting, the room having shrunk to the size of him and the figure in black. Now that the battle was over, he didn't actually believe a Death Eater had burst through the window, not exactly when Defense Against the Dark Arts was scheduled to start.

"Professor Whisp?" he asked, wand still raised in case he was wrong.

"At your service." The figure clicked its fingers, and suddenly turned into the witch who had been introduced at the Feast. "Very nice, Potter. Now I'd kindly ask for you to return my wand."

Harry eyed the witch. Yes, it was overwhelmingly likely that this was his new professor, but he wasn't about to turn over the wand of a witch who had just tried to curse his best friend. "Prove it."

Her eyebrows raised. "And how would you have me do that?"

Harry's mind raced. Then he raised his wand in one hand and the witch's in the other and pointed them at each other. "Priori incantatem," he said. The wand in question rose into the air, pointing at the ceiling. The curses Harry had just witnessed rose harmlessly through the air, and then a ghostly banner appeared, the words, "Congratulations, Potter," written on it.

"And that, I think, is enough," the witch said, deftly nicking her wand out of the air.

Harry stared at the banner as it dissipated, then looked at the witch. "How'd you know it would be me?"

She smiled not unkindly at him. "When one has the great Harry Potter in one's class, it's safe to make assumptions. You can lower your wand and sit now, by the way. I won't curse anyone else." Harry sat, and he was suddenly aware that the entire class was staring at him. He flushed.

The witch walked to the front of the room and set her wand down on the table. "As you may have gathered, I am Professor Amelia Whisp, and I'm here to turn each and every one of you into budding Harry Potters." Harry's flush darkened, but at least the class was now ogling their professor. Not since Bart Crouch Jr.'s impersonation of Moody had they had such an introduction, and even that couldn't hold a candle to Whisp's entrance.

"Forever the Golden Boy," Malfoy whispered under his breath.

"At least I did something," Harry snapped. "I didn't see you rushing to my rescue."

"However," Whisp said sharply, "I will not tolerate whispering in my class, not even from Mr. Potter." Harry's flush darkened even further. "Now, take out your books and turn to the first chapter. Come now, stop gawping and do as I say."

The class was a cross between a lesson and an entirely less disastrous version of the ill-fated dueling club of second year. Whisp had them break into pairs and practice deflecting curses, and by the end of the lesson Neville, Seamus and, Harry was pleased to note, Goyle had all been escorted to the infirmary. Neither Harry nor Malfoy had to work particularly hard at this exercise, but Harry was nonetheless impressed with Whisp, and how well the class was going. Maybe this wouldn't be a waste of his time after all.

"I didn't see you at lunch," Malfoy said at the end of the lesson as they gathered their things and walked out of the classroom.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks to our entrance into potions, I wasn't keen on having the whole school staring at me."

"Yet you left me to their mercy," Malfoy replied. "Tsk, tsk, Potter, how rude. Especially after I helped you last night."

"You should've figured I'd be in the kitchens," Harry jabbed. "You could've joined me."

"I told you, all those house elves give me the creeps. Besides, I can handle an odd glance or two."

Harry highly suspected it was more than one or two looks, but he didn't say anything. He should've known Malfoy's pride would prevent him from deviating from his routine. They reached the staircase that led to Gryffindor Tower in one direction and the Slytherin dungeons in the other, and the two boys eyed each other.

"I really ought to study for Transfigurations," Harry said, fully prepared to let himself be persuaded to do anything but, despite the looks of withering disapproval McGonagall gave when homework went uncompleted.

"Ever the Gryffindor, Potter," Malfoy said. "Fancy a game of Quidditch first? Loser has to write the other's essay."

Harry had to prevent himself from rolling his eyes again. "I'm not going to cheat, Malfoy," he said, though he did start walking downstairs, rather than to his room.

"I should've known as much," Malfoy replied. "A Slytherin you are not. What do you suggest for stakes, then?"

Harry considered the question. He wasn't in the mood to collect any further galleons from Malfoy, not when he couldn't possibly hope to make a dent in his fortune. And, after last night's display, he didn't have it in him to offer up anything personal.

"Loser buys drinks at the first Hogsmeade trip?" he offered up lamely.

Malfoy's face hardened. "I won't be attending that trip," he said shortly. "Don't bother asking why, I won't tell you. Think of something else."

Harry found it rather rich that, after all he had shared with Malfoy, he wasn't allowed to ask, but let it go. "I dunno," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "You always make me think of something. Why don't you have a go at it?"

Malfoy's eyes twinkled, and Harry thought perhaps he should've just kept his mouth shut and thought of something. "Let me see…" Malfoy considered, opening the front doors. They were met by blinding sunshine, the heat immediately beating down on the black-clad boys.

_Bloody Scottish weather_, Harry thought. If he had known it was going to be this warm, he would've stopped by his room for a tee shirt before heading out to the Quidditch pitch.

Capry flew over to them as they walked, pecking Malfoy's head excitedly. Harry snorted, and Malfoy brushed the bird away absentmindedly. "If I win, you have to sit with me at meals, so I don't have to suffer alone."

Harry stared at him. "At the Slytherin table?" he asked incredulously.

Malfoy smirked. "Yes, Potter, at the Slytherin table."

"And I suppose the sight of that won't cause even more of a scandal," Harry replied.

"Can't imagine why it would," Malfoy said airily. "Now, on the off chance you win, what do you desire?"

Harry felt his stomach flip at the word, and forced it still. Really, all of this business with the stomach-flipping and turning was getting old, as well as complicated. "If I win, you have to apologize to Ron."

Malfoy's face contorted. "For what? Replying to a note that _you_ sent?" Capry hooted excitedly at the word note, and Malfoy batted him away again. "I hardly think—"

"You don't think at all, that's my point," Harry interrupted. They had arrived at the changing rooms, but seeing as neither of them were about to put on heavy woolen cloaks, they merely set down their bags and continued the conversation as Malfoy opened the gaming closet and retrieved the snitch. "I really couldn't care less whether you think you owe him one; you'll do it, and that's that."

"In person, or can I just owl him?" Malfoy asked, letting the snitch free and watching as it disappeared.

"In person," Harry said firmly. "With eye contact. And sincerity. And you can't curse him afterwards, or Obliviate his memory."

Malfoy sighed hugely. "Fine. But I hope you know this only drives my desire to win further."

"Right, cause I'm so keen on sitting with the Slytherins for the rest of the year," Harry shot back. They grabbed their brooms and kicked off. While Harry could never not love flying, the sun was beating down oppressively, and there was no wind to offer relief. Within minutes Harry was a sweaty mess, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose, threatening to fall off entirely.

"Bloody hell it's hot out!" Malfoy yelled. "I call time out."

Harry laughed. "That was never part of the agreement," he called back. "If you're going to get a drink of water, it's on your own time."

"That was hardly my intention," Malfoy snapped, stopping midair and taking off his jumper, revealing nothing but a tight, white shirt underneath. Harry's mouth went dry as he watched Malfoy fly over to his bag and deposit the jumper, staring rather than using the extra time to his advantage. "That's so much better," Malfoy sighed, flying back onto the field. Malfoy was quite slender, but the shirt still seemed molded to his body, and Harry had yet to come back to himself. Malfoy smirked. "If I had known your reaction to me in a tee shirt, I would've divested of my jumper ages ago," he drawled. "I hardly think you can find the snitch when you can't stop staring at me."

Harry jerked, and glared at him. "I wasn't staring," he said, the lie too obvious for either of them to comment on. He rose up as high as he could and resumed circling the field, searching out the snitch, trying to keep his mind on the misery of sitting at the Slytherin table for the rest of the year, rather than on how good Malfoy looked.

Malfoy appeared at his side, an evil glint in his eye. "Y'know, I daresay you've found the perfect vantage to find the snitch," he said smoothly, watching with a smirk as Harry turned back to him. "I think I'll stay up here, with you." He shifted his broom slightly to the left, brushing Harry's arm with his bare one. Harry jerked away, face a deep scarlet worthy of the Weasleys.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry snapped, pulling ahead, or at least trying to. Malfoy easily kept up with him, eyes fixed on Harry's face, not bothering to look for the snitch at all.

"I wish your precious Gryffindors could see you now," Malfoy said with a smile. "Going to pieces over a Slytherin."

"I am not going to pieces!" Harry barked. "I—I'm looking for the bloody snitch."

"Uh huh," Malfoy replied. "It's found its way under my shirt, then, has it?"

Harry hadn't even realized his eyes had been drawn back to Malfoy, and he snapped them away, facing forward. "I thought I told you to sod off," Harry shot back.

"Y'know," Malfoy drawled slowly. "The sun is taking quite a toll on my Seeker abilities. What do you suggest I do about it, Harry?"

Harry bristled at the use of his first name. "I dunno," he said, trying to keep his voice even, trying to stay focused on the game.

"Oh, I've got it," Malfoy said without a moment's hesitation. He took out his wand, pointed it at himself, and said, "_Aguamenti_." A jet of water burst from the tip of his wand, soaking his shirt, and Harry nearly flew into a goalpost. Malfoy laughed lightly. "That's so much better," he said, shaking his wet hair, water running down his face. "I can't imagine how you're still playing in your jumper."

Harry managed a garbled noise somewhere between a grunt and utter nonsense. "I—er…" The thin fabric had become nearly see-through, and the coldness of the water caused Malfoy's nipples to harden beneath his shirt. Malfoy reached out and grabbed Harry's broom, steering him away from flying into the stands.

"Watch yourself, Potter," he said. "Wouldn't want you to crack your pretty little skull open. Again."

Harry jerked his broom free. This was ridiculous. Not only was he not attracted to boys, if he was going to be, it would _not _be Malfoy. Absolutely not. He didn't bother to reply, still not quite trusting his voice. Instead, using all his focus and every trick he had ever learned, he leaned into his broom, urging it forward even faster. He saw Malfoy trailing him and dived into a corkscrew, followed by a series of flips, rolls, anything to get Malfoy to give up and leave him alone.

It was while he was upside down that he saw the snitch. It was hovering an inch or two above the ground right next to a goalpost. Harry shot towards it, and Malfoy laughed.

"You really are desperate to give yourself a concussion, aren't you, Potter?"

Harry's fingers closed over the snitch, and never had he been happier to end a game of Quidditch. He pulled up on his broom before slamming into the ground, and flew over to Malfoy, focusing his mind on the tactile sensation of the snitch in his hand, the sun beating down on him, on keeping his eyes on Malfoy's face and not once straying lower. "This," he said, holding up the snitch, "is what you get for being a prat." Malfoy's eyes shot open, and this time it was Harry's turn to laugh. "You can't rely on your looks for everything, Malfoy." He turned away and flew gracefully off the field, to where their bags were waiting. Capry was perched on Malfoy's jumper, head tucked under a wing, asleep. So it was possible for the bird to be calm, then.

Malfoy landed next to him with a less-than-graceful thump. He grabbed the snitch out of Harry's hand, neither of them commenting on the physical connection, and shoved it back into the box, which he kicked angrily into the open closet.

"I can't believe I have to bloody apologize to Weasley," he snapped angrily. "I didn't _do _anything."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You agreed to the bet, Malfoy. It's your own fault if you don't like the terms."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry. "The things I do for you, Potter." He looked down at himself in disgust. "I'm bloody soaked," he said, untucking his shirt with a series of jerking motions. Harry had never been more aware of his body as he watched Malfoy pull off the shirt: how his jaw wanted to drop open, how his hands were itching to reach out and run over Malfoy's bare chest, how he suddenly wanted nothing more than the boy in front of him. Malfoy looked up at Harry, and smirked. "If you stare any harder, I daresay I'll burst into flames."

Harry unconsciously licked his lips, the part of his brain responsible for rational thought completely shut down. He saw Malfoy's breathing speed up under the intensity of his gaze, at how his chest rose and fell faster, at how Malfoy didn't flinch as Harry took a step forward, nearly closing the gap between them.

"Harry—" Malfoy stammered, voice coming out breathily.

"Shut up." Harry fisted his hand in Malfoy's hair and pulled him in for an almost violent kiss. His lips slid over Malfoy's roughly, reaching up to anchor his face to his own. Malfoy stood still in shock for a moment before letting out a sigh and responding, pushing his body against Harry's, getting his jumper soaked. One hand went to the back of Harry's head, twining his fingers in his hair, the other to his lower back, pulling their bodies closer together. Harry let out a low growl, then jerked away, breathing heavily, face flushed.

"I've got to take a shower," he said coarsely, disappearing into the Gryffindor changing rooms, leaving Malfoy to stare after him in shock.


	9. Chapter 9: Please hold my hand

**A/N: **Okay, so. Fluff. Fluff like crazy. I couldn't help it; the fluffiness overtook whatever else I was planning on doing, and firmly anchored itself in the story. But I went on another writing binge last night, and chapters ten and eleven are done, and while they, too, are a little fluffy, there's at least _some_ angst to counter it. I'm still thinking things are moving a little quickly, but y'all seem on board, so maybe it's all in my head. There _will_ be some obstacles, dammit! It won't _all_ be smooth sailing! I'm pretty sure!

It's just, y'know, Malfoy seems so cuddly, and, well, other reasons why he'd not freak out that you'll find out soon enough. Harry will have a moment or two of _Holy shit I'm dating Draco Malfoy what the fuck_ eventually, I promise. It was supposed to happen earlier, but this damned story has a life of its own, and it keeps not letting me.

In any case, enjoy! All the favoriting and following and reviewing are like cupcakes for my soul. I love you all :)

**Chapter Nine:**

_**Please hold my hand.**_

The kiss was not mentioned.

Harry and Malfoy separated long enough to return to their respective dorms and change into dry clothes before rejoining outside the library, Malfoy sporting a pained look.

"Don't make me do this," he said, nearly pleading, glancing over Harry's shoulder to the table where Ron and Hermione were studying. "All I did was send you a bloody post, not—"

"You lost the bet, and you will do as I say," Harry snapped. "Go in there, tell Ron you're sorry for being a prat and you promise you'll never do it again. I would never make you apologize for anything you did during the war; that's up to you. But that post, however much you'd like to insist was never meant as anything other than a note to me, tore me and Ron apart, and you're going to fix it."

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "Fine." He set foot in the library, then started to turn around. "Can't I at least do it when there aren't so many people around?"

"No," Harry said. He grabbed Malfoy's shoulders, propelling him over to Ron and Hermione. They looked up in shock.

"What do _you _want?" Ron spat.

When Malfoy didn't say anything, Harry prodded him in the back with his wand. He had no intention of cursing Malfoy, but he figured a good poke couldn't hurt.

"I'm…sorry," Malfoy said between clenched teeth.

Ron gaped at him. "You're what now?"

Malfoy turned to Harry. "I've done—"

"You are not done," Harry hissed back, and gave him another prod. "Go on."

Malfoy closed his eyes, and turned back to Ron. "For sending the post." Ron seemed shocked into silence, and Malfoy continued. "Though, really, it's more Potter's fault for hiding—"

Harry stuck his wand further into Malfoy's back, causing him to let out an indignant squeak. "Ron, is that good enough? I've gotten Malfoy himself to apologize to you. Can we be friends again?"

Ron was slowly opening and closing his mouth, looking rather like a fish. Hermione smiled, and Harry thought it looked only a little forced. "Of course," she said. "Draco, you're forgiven. And," she added, turning to Harry, "he does have a point, you know. If you hadn't hid your Quidditch practices in the first place, none of this would've happened."

Harry resisted a snarky comeback, seeing as she was right. "What're you studying?" he asked instead.

"We're just finishing up our Transfiguration essays," Hermione said. "We'd be happy to have you join us, wouldn't we, Ron?"

She elbowed him in the side, and Ron finally stopped his fish impression. "Er, yeah, suppose so."

"Brilliant," Harry said, sitting down and taking out his Transfiguration book. He turned to Malfoy, who was still standing behind him, arms crossed. "Going to join us?" Malfoy stared at him in silence, and Harry had the suspicion he was supposed to be reading Malfoy's mind. "If you want me to understand what you're saying, you'll have to use your words," he said, unable to resist teasing him a little. It was like poking a sleeping troll; the desire to see how far you could get before it reared up and killed you was just too tempting.

Malfoy shot him a withering glare. "Fine," he snapped, voice dripping with malice. He yanked out a chair and deposited himself at the table, next to Harry and opposite Ron.

_He really must be desperate for friends_, Harry mused as he began his essay. Three feet on why Crups and Kneazles were required by law to be transfigured at all times. He glanced at his friends out of the corner of his eye: Hermione was working quietly, seemingly completely unbothered by the situation; Ron was a bright red, and though he had a quill in one hand and his book in the other, didn't seem to be able to get any work done; Malfoy was visibly attempting to regain his air of control, but couldn't stop grinding his teeth, or scowling angrily at Harry.

"Malfoy, nobody's holding you hostage," Harry said quietly, eyes on his paper. "If you want to leave, go right ahead."

Malfoy took a moment to respond, and Harry thought he was probably working to control the volume of his voice. "Since I have to write the bloody essay, I might as well get it done here," he snapped eventually, getting the necessary things out of his bag with a violence suggesting his parchment had done him a personal wrong.

"Right, then," Harry said. He was struck by a stupid, crazy idea, which of course meant he had to act on it before he could think it through. He gently nudged his foot against Malfoy's, who whirled to face him, a look of shock on his face. "Stop staring," Harry muttered under his breath. "Unless you feel like explaining why."

Malfoy immediately turned away and flipped open his book as if nothing had happened. But he did seem a little calmer, and when Harry took his foot back, Malfoy immediately moved his so they were touching again. Harry had to bite back a smile; it seemed he was being used as a barrier between Malfoy and Ron and Hermione. He didn't mind at all; having the four of them at one desk without a single yell or curse was a miracle, and Harry was willing to do anything necessary to prolong the peace.

And, Harry thought, more than a little embarrassed, he didn't exactly mind having Malfoy's foot there.

Hermione finished her essay first, of course. She spent the rest of the time before dinner helping Ron and Harry with theirs, intermittently glancing at Malfoy, seeming to be torn about whether to offer him help as well. Eventually she couldn't hold back the desire to butt in, and said,

"Draco, if you need any—"

"I'm fine," he snapped.

The encounter, Harry thought, had gone remarkably well, considering. Hermione had turned back to Ron's parchment, admonishing him on something or other, and Malfoy remained silent, flipping through his book and occasionally jotting down a note or two. Harry also noted, with a touch of jealousy, how easily Hermione called Malfoy by his first name, as if it meant nothing. Realistically, he knew she had never been one to call him Malfoy and it wasn't a change at all, merely habit, but Harry still found a little bit of hatred for her.

Harry finished his essay just in time for dinner. Ron still had another two inches to go and Malfoy didn't offer any information on how he was progressing. They gathered their things and headed down to the Great Hall, Hermione chatting somewhat forcefully with Ron, Harry throwing in an odd comment, Malfoy remaining resolutely silent. They reached the entrance of the Hall and Harry paused as Ron and Hermione went ahead and sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Er, I'll see you later, then?" Harry asked.

Malfoy gave him a look. "I sat through _two hours _of _studying_ with your _friends _and that's all you've got to say for yourself?"

Harry shuffled awkwardly. "Thanks?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You owe me," he said, poking Harry in the chest before whisking off to the Slytherin table. Harry saw he sat by himself, and for a minute he wished he had lost the match, just to get that forlorn look off Malfoy's face. Then Ron gestured him over, and Harry broke into a grin. It was too good to be back with his friends again to worry over now.

After dinner, as Harry, Ron and Hermione walked up to Gryffindor tower, Hermione said cautiously, "Draco didn't seem that bad." Harry glanced at Ron, who remained expressionless. She continued on, in a rather high voice, "Not that we can just forgive him for everything he's done, of course, but we really should be working on uniting the houses, and who better to start with than the head Slytherin?" Harry didn't mention that Malfoy was barely on speaking terms with the rest of his house, and Ron remained silent. "Maybe the three of you can have a game of Quidditch?" she asked hopefully. Harry found that question to be incredibly dim, but at least Ron didn't burst out yelling.

"I am not playing with that git," he said, almost calmly. "_Lemon drop._"

They walked into the common room, and Ron and Hermione immediately headed for their room. Harry stayed where he was, wondering if he was invited, or if he should slink up to his room. They reached the door and pushed it aside, and were about to walk in when Ron turned around and said, "Aren't you coming?"

Harry broke into a sunny grin. "Yeah, of course."

Ron grinned back. "Good, cause I've just got a package of brownies from Mum, and Hermione made me promise to share."

"Excellent," Harry replied, bounding up the stairs to join his friends.

"Just don't forget to finish your essay, Ron," Hermione said sternly. Then her expression turned worried. "I still haven't heard back from Professor Flitwick," she said anxiously. "I owled him after we left, asking about homework, but he hasn't gotten back to me."

Ron rolled his eyes, grabbing a package off the tiny desk and sitting down on the floor. "Oh, Hermione, calm down. If he wanted us to do it, he'd have told us. Come on, Harry, have a brownie."

They were delicious.

Harry stayed until late, later than he meant to, before he was kicked out so Ron and Hermione could go to sleep, though the look they exchanged made Harry highly suspicious of what would happen after he left. Still, he was tired himself, and he trudged up to his room, which was dark and contained only Neville.

"Hey, Harry," Neville said, lying on his back, staring up at his canopy.

"Hey," Harry replied, tossing his things on the ground and changing into his pajamas. "How'd your day go?"

"Well, other than nearly having a heart attack in Defense Against the Dark Arts, not too bad," he replied as Harry got into bed. "Rory and I are getting on really well."

Harry smiled, pleased for his friend. "That's good."

"I'm thinking about asking her to Hogsmeade with me, what d'you think?"

"Go for it," Harry replied, stretching, realizing that his bed felt empty. He flushed, glad Neville couldn't see him in the darkness.

"I dunno, what if it's too soon?"

"Neville, she's going to go anyways," Harry said reasonably. "It might as well be with you." All of this was making Harry nervous of Malfoy's mysterious statements about that weekend, and also other things, one specific thing, and Harry pushed it away.

"Yeah, I suppose that's true," Neville said, though he still sounded apprehensive. "What if she wants to go with the Hufflepuffs instead, though?"

"Then you can tag along with them," Harry replied. "You've always gotten on with Hufflepuffs."

"I suppose," Neville repeated. There was a moment of silence, then said, "Speaking of inter-house relations…"

Harry groaned, and threw an arm over his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it," he said. "Soon enough all anyone'll be able to talk about is me and Malfoy, and that damned potions class."

"Actually," Neville said, "I was going to say that I saw you two studying with Ron and Hermione in the library after dinner. That's pretty brave, mate."

Harry couldn't help smiling, a little. "He lost a Quidditch bet."

"That'd explain it." Neville yawned. "G'night, Harry."

"Night, Neville."

Harry fell asleep, his last thought of how soft and pliant Malfoy's lips had been.

_Harry stood in Malfoy Manor in a room he had never seen before. It was a giant hall where even his breath seemed to echo around him. The walls were all empty, huge blocks of marble that seemed to go on forever. Harry patted his pockets, but found no wand. Not that there was anything he could have done with it; the room was empty and had no doors, no windows. Harry stood alone, with only the sound of his breath and the sensation of his bare feet on the cold floor to keep him company._

"_Harry," a voice whispered from directly behind him, so close that dank, rotting breath caressed his ear. Even the whisper echoed._

_Harry didn't turn around. "Bellatrix."_

"_It's so good to see you again, Harry," she said, coming around to face him, trailing a hand along his shoulder. "You look good. Being wandless suits."_

"_I assume you've got yours, then?" Harry asked._

_She took it out of her pocket, waving it in the air. "I never leave the house without it."_

_Harry studied the woman in front of him with a fearless detachment. She was dead, she couldn't hurt him anymore. "What do you want?"_

_She grinned, revealing yellowed, rotting teeth. "What all dark wizards want, Harry. To make you pay." She raised her want, pointing it at him. "_Crucio!_"_

_Harry found he was wrong, very wrong. She could still hurt him. He screamed, body contorting under the spell. Bellatrix laughed, the mad sound echoing all around him. "Never think you're out of our reach, Harry Potter!" she yelled. "_Crucio!_"_

_The pain doubled, and Harry felt as if he was on fire, every organ, every blood cell burning. He couldn't help crying and screaming out. He was screaming himself hoarse, and it only took a moment for his voice to break. But the pain didn't go away, didn't diminish at all._

"_How's it feel, Potter?" Bellatrix asked. "To be at the mercy of the woman who killed your godfather?"_

_Harry couldn't even feel angry, could only feel the pain of the curse. It wasn't even pain anymore, that word was far too mild. It was like the stars themselves were pulling him apart and putting him back together, just so they could pull him apart again._

"_Without a single friend to aid you," she whispered, and giggled manically. "_Crucio!_"_

"_He's not alone!" a familiar voice rang out._

_Bellatrix jerked in surprise, lowering her wand, and Harry collapsed on the floor, panting, unable to move, see, think, even remember who the voice belonged to._

"_Who are you?" she demanded. "There's something familiar about you. In your eyes."_

"_I'm Neville Longbottom," he said, and Bellatrix burst out into hysterical laughter. "Shut up," Neville said, and the surprise of the words worked as effectively as if he had slapped her. Harry heard footsteps approaching where he lay, shaking, and felt Neville lean over him._

"_What are you doing?" Bellatrix asked, alarm clear in her voice. "Get away from him! He's mine!"_

"_Harry," Neville said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, wake up." Dean and Seamus appeared at his side, and Bellatrix uttered a shriek of rage._

_Neville's words made no sense, could barely get past the fog he was in. "What're you…" Harry croaked, voice still raw and cracked from screaming._

"_Wake up. You're dreaming." He shook Harry forcefully, and Harry moaned. "Harry, wake up!"_

Harry's eyes flew open. He was sprawled on the floor, tangled in his blankets, covered in sweat and shaking. Neville was kneeling at his side, shaking his shoulder, and Dean and Seamus stood behind him, eyes wide.

"Harry, thank Merlin," Neville said, breathing a sigh of relief. "You were having a nightmare. I've never heard anyone scream like that."

"We were about to get McGonagall," Seamus offered.

Harry flushed a deep red. "I'm fine," he muttered, untangling himself from his sheets, and standing shakily. Neville had a hand on his elbow, steadying him.

"Do you want us to get her?" he asked. "Blimey, Harry, the way you screamed…"

"Really, I'm fine," Harry said, glad to hear his voice come out clear and confident. "I'm just going to go for a walk, yeah? To clear my head."

Neville looked torn. "Harry, it's after hours," he said.

"Yeah, I got that." Harry grabbed his wand, waiting to get his cloak until the other boys were in bed.

Neville looked down at his feet, then back up at Harry, and Harry recognized the stubborn streak that showed itself so rarely. "I'm Head Boy," he said, voice quiet but confident. "I can't let you leave, not unless you're going to see McGonagall, and one of us goes with you."

The panic that had been pooling in Harry's stomach grew worse, began churning helplessly, and he felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, feeling almost as trapped as he had in his dream.

"Neville, look, you're great and all, but I have to go," he said, words tumbling together. He walked to the door, back to the wall and eyes staring imploringly into Neville's.

"You should let him go," Seamus said nervously. "If he gets caught, he'll just say he sneaked out while you were asleep, right Harry?"

"Yeah, course," Harry replied, hand on the cold knob of the door behind him.

Neville chewed his lip. "You really shouldn't…"

"It'll be fine," Harry said, opened the door and slipped out, hoping Neville wouldn't follow him. He didn't want to jinx him but, like that day back in first year, he would if he had to. But the door, which always creaked a little, didn't open, and Harry's footsteps were the only sound as he strode across the common room and out into the hallway. He didn't have his cloak or the Marauder's Map, only his wand, and he didn't dare conjure any light, lest he attract Filch or Mrs. Norris.

He walked along the hallways as quickly as possibly, keeping pressed against the walls and staying in shadows as much as possible, not knowing where he was going until he got there. He had half a mind he would end up at the Room of Requirement, but instead he found himself in the Owlery, shivering in the cold night air, looking through the rafters for…for who, exactly? Hedwig was gone, and he had been so secluded over the summer it hadn't even occurred to him to buy a new owl.

Then Capry swooped down, landing on Harry's shoulder and nipping his ear affectionately.

"Hey, there," Harry said, gently stroking the bird. "You're an awfully good owl, you know that?" Capry hooted appreciatively. "Know where I might find some parchment?" he asked, not expecting an answer. But Capry took off and quickly returned with a scrap of paper. Harry stared at the owl wonderingly. He supposed he shouldn't be so surprised that Malfoy's owl would be the best of the best, but so far he had presented himself only as a hyperactive and oblivious, albeit well-trained owl, showing no signs of a higher intelligence.

"Thanks," Harry said as Capry dropped the scrap, as well as a battered quill onto the bench that ran the length of the wall. Harry bent down and scrawled a quick message, having no idea how much ink was in the quill.

_You awake?_

He tied the note to Capry's leg with a piece of twine he found on the floor and sent the bird out the window, watching as it disappeared around a corner. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the fresh air and familiar scent of owls calming him, pushing the nightmare out of his head. He felt he was overreacting; after all, the pain wasn't real, Bellatrix was dead, and Neville had even come into his dream to rescue him. But the pain certainly felt real, and Harry was still shaking from it. He knew from experience it would be easier to believe she was dead once the sun came up, but until then, he couldn't help continually scanning the shadows for a mess of curly hair and a grin that could only come from living in Azkaban.

Capry flew back quickly enough, perching on the windowsill, and Harry grabbed the note.

_How many times do I have to tell you, Potter, I never sleep? What do you want?_

Harry noticed almost randomly that the note wasn't signed, and realized he hadn't signed his, either. He grabbed the quill Capry had brought him and tried to write a response, but got only scratches—no doubt a student had dropped and forgotten about it, and Harry was hardly lucky enough to find an inkwell as well.

"Capry, any ideas?"

The bird hopped up and down at his name, and Harry wondered if maybe he had given it too much credit. He looked around and saw nothing but owls. Having no better idea, Harry took out his wand and very, very carefully began burning letters into the parchment.

_Meet me?_

Harry sent the note back to Malfoy, hoping it wouldn't disintegrate before it got to him. He continued to scan the room, just in case Bellatrix had apparated behind him without his noticing, and caught himself looking for Hedwig a few times as well. Each time his heart tugged, and Harry found he was near tears by the time Capry returned with a fresh sheet of parchment and, thankfully, a quill.

_Where are you, and what on earth has reduced you to burning notes? I've sent Capry with a Self-Inking Quill to prevent you from setting fire to the castle._

_Where would you have me find you? I've got just enough Disappearing Draught left for a quick jaunt, assuming you and your cloak can get me back safely._

Harry grabbed the quill gratefully and, carefully avoiding the subject of his cloak, replied:

_Room of Requirement?_

He sent Capry away but kept the quill. He poked absentmindedly at the tip as he waited for a response, reminded of Umbridge's detention quill and the scars that had taken years to heal. It was always like this after a nightmare; everything came flooding back, whether or not it had anything to do with the dream. Harry rubbed the top of his right hand anxiously, then set his hands, palms down, on the windowsill, forcing himself to stop. Bellatrix was not hiding in the shadows and Umbridge was not torturing him. He was safe. Really.

Now if only he could believe it.

Thankfully, Capry returned quickly.

_Alright, but we go in together. I'll not spend another night in a room that makes me claustrophobic. Not to mention that horrendous couch, enchanted or no. See you in five._

Harry gave Capry one last pat, whispered, "Good boy,"and left, carefully winding his way down to the seventh floor corridor. He paced the hallway, waiting for Malfoy to arrive, suddenly all too aware that this was where the Death Eaters had appeared from, that Bellatrix herself had stepped out of the wall opposite him.

_The Vanishing Cabinet was destroyed in the fire_, Harry reminded himself, a little nervously. _Nobody's coming out of there_.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Calm down, Potter, it's me," Malfoy hissed. "I'm not going to drink the antidote until we're inside; I'll not risk getting caught. And where's your cloak?"

Harry bystepped the question. "How am I supposed to walk in front of the wall with you if I can't see you?" he whispered back. Malfoy smacked his head, and Harry added a healthy, "Ouch! What did you do that for?"

"For being an idiot! And stop talking so loudly; I saw Filch a floor down. Here, take my hand." Harry couldn't see it, but a moment later he felt Malfoy's hand close over his, pulling him to the opposite wall. Harry started to pace, but Malfoy stood still, anchoring him in place. "What do you suppose happens when two people try to open the room together?" he asked, and Harry realized Malfoy was still somewhat afraid of the room.

"We'll find out soon enough," Harry whispered. "Come on; you might be invisible, but some of us are all too solid." He started to walk and this time Malfoy followed him. They passed the wall three times, Harry thinking: _I need a safe place, I need a safe place, I need a safe place…_A small door appeared and Harry quickly opened it, pulling Malfoy behind him, the door closing of its own accord behind them. He raised his wand and muttered "_Lumos_."

The room was bigger than last time, but it looked almost the same. There was a couch directly in front of him, this time in Slytherin green, he noted wryly, a fireplace on the opposite wall and the hatch that led down to the kitchens on the right. The only difference, aside from the room generally being more spacious, was the bed against the left wall. It, too, was decked in Slytherin colors, and Harry thought it big enough to hold at least two people easily. He wondered idly if that was something he had thought or Malfoy.

"Give me my hand back, Potter," Malfoy snapped, yanking his hand free.

"Sorry," Harry said, a little peevishly. He walked around to the front of the couch, no longer having to squeeze, and sat down in what he now thought of as his corner. He pointed his wand at the fireplace and a moment later there was a fire cheerfully blazing, dispelling any shadows and calming Harry's nerves considerably. He heard Malfoy gulp something down, and then, fully visible, join Harry on the couch.

"So, why'd you grab me out of bed at three in the morning?" he asked conversationally, as if there was nothing at all odd about Harry's actions.

Harry now felt rather foolish. He had been up for long enough that most of the power of the dream had faded away, and now that he was in the familiar room, the fire casting away any and all shadows, he didn't know how to answer.

"Er…"

"Because," Malfoy drawled, "if all you wanted was to see me, I'm rather flattered. I wouldn't have thought you'd be thinking of me in the middle of the night."

Harry ignored the innuendo completely. "I had a nightmare, okay? I didn't want to be alone."

"And your roommates weren't cutting it?" Malfoy asked, and Harry could've sworn he heard something triumphant in his voice.

"I dunno," Harry muttered, curling his legs up to his chest and keeping his eyes on the fireplace, avoiding Malfoy's piercing stare. "Guess not."

Harry expected to be rebuked, perhaps laughed at. Instead, Malfoy asked, "Do you want to talk about it this time?"

Harry shook his head. He wouldn't have minded sharing this dream in theory—it was only when he joined Voldemort that he refused to speak a word on the subject—but he wasn't sure how Malfoy would react to his aunt being the subject of the nightmare.

"So you dragged me out of the bed in the middle of the night to, what? Hold your hand?"

Harry flushed. Malfoy's tone was completely indecipherable, and Harry had no idea what to respond with. "I was scared" seemed stupid, especially now that he had calmed down. "Seeing you calms me down" was much too revealing, though Harry wasn't sure of what. And "yes, please hold my hand, it helps tremendously, and besides, even if I hadn't just woke up from a nightmare, I'm pretty sure it's my new favorite thing" was not only pathetic, but opened him up to all kinds of ridicule.

"Someone slip you a silencing potion?" Malfoy jabbed.

Harry looked at him, despite being afraid his eyes would reveal far too much. "Would you just come over here and stop talking?" he burst out.

"No need to get pissy, Potter," Malfoy said, gracefully sliding across the couch so he was sitting next to him. "You called me here; I was merely inquiring as to why."

Malfoy was sitting just close enough to drive Harry crazy. They weren't touching, but with even the slightest movement, their legs or arms brushed, and Harry could hardly stand it.

"Come closer," he demanded, then immediately regretted the words as Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"So you did just want me to come hold your hand."

Harry held his gaze as he forced out, "Yes."

"Alright then." Malfoy closed the distance between them, and Harry felt his entire body sigh as they pressed together. Malfoy took his hand, idly sliding his fingers through Harry's, around his fingers, moving to stroke his palm and then the back of his hand, causing Harry to slip his eyes shut and lean his head back against the couch. "You have wonderful hands," Malfoy whispered, and Harry's heart stopped for a moment, though whether from surprise or something else he didn't know. "I didn't say that," Malfoy added distractedly, still tracing Harry's hand.

"Okay," Harry replied easily. Malfoy leaned his head on Harry's shoulder again, hair just barely brushing the side of his face, tickling slightly. Harry reached up and used his free hand to smooth it down, and Malfoy hummed contentedly. Harry found himself starting to drift away and forced himself awake, not willing to let go of this experience yet.

"We better set an alarm," Malfoy murmured. "I don't think we can get away with being late to McGonagall's class." He paused. "Besides, two days in a row, people might start to talk." He paused again. "Even more than they already are, I mean."

Harry smiled a little. The thought of McGonagall's expression if they arrived late together made it almost worth doing. He grabbed his wand with his free hand and conjured a clock on the mantle, setting the alarm to quarter of eight, figuring they'd rather sleep in than go to breakfast. "Did you finish your essay?" he asked, mind floating absently through the day, picking the topic of homework rather randomly.

Malfoy's hand stilled, and Harry imagined the scowl on his face. "Barely," he replied stiffly. "I hate McGonagall's essays."

Harry twitched his fingers slightly, and Malfoy resumed his ministrations. "She's not so bad," Harry said.

"Maybe if you're in her house."

Harry frowned lightly. This wasn't at all the direction he had meant the conversation to go. He was feeling rather dreamy, all light and floaty, and he didn't want to be pulled down into anything as mundane as classes. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he had mentioned it in the first place. Nor could he think of anything to say. He couldn't think quite right, and conversation seemed just beyond his reach.

"Shall we move to the bed?" Malfoy asked, and something in Harry's stomach twisted. "Seeing as I'm about to fall asleep on you and all."

"Thought you never slept," Harry replied, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. This newfound cuddling was one thing; lying together in bed was another entirely.

"Being around you makes me sleepy," Malfoy replied, then seemed to realize how that came out. "In a good way, I mean."

Harry laughed a little. "Yeah, alright, then. Bed's fine."

Malfoy stood up, tightening his grip on Harry's hand, and they walked the few steps together, Malfoy only letting go so he could climb beneath the sheets. Harry joined him anxiously, lying so they were facing each other. Malfoy took his hand again, twirling his fingers with Harry's, securely holding his hand in place.

"It only took one night of sleeping with you for my bed to feel empty," Harry said, wondering if that was saying too much.

Malfoy smiled in the firelight. "My bed's been feeling empty for years," he replied, leaving Harry to wonder if that was because he wasn't in it, or if anyone would do. "Somehow, Pansy and Blaise never cut it."

Harry's heart started to speed up. It was him, then. How long exactly had Malfoy wanted this? It left his head swirling. He wanted to say something, wanted to respond, but he was having trouble finding the words.

"You…" Harry trailed off.

"I what?" Malfoy asked gently. Harry may have been inferring like crazy, but he could have sworn that Malfoy knew exactly what he had thought and what the implications were, and was giving him time to get used to it, to figure out how he fit in.

Harry found he wanted to kiss Malfoy again, almost desperately. To feel his lips beneath his, to memorize their shape, their taste. But surely he was moving too fast, wasn't he? Before the meeting on the train, he and Malfoy had been hard pressed to find a civil word between them, let alone anything approaching even toleration, never mind friendship, and heaven forbid anything past that. How had they gotten from there to here in such a short time?

_Fuck it,_ Harry thought, and leaned forward, gently brushing his lips against Malfoy's, who hummed quietly at the contact. Harry's stomach was on fire, every nerve standing alert, and he realized nothing with Ginny or Cho had even come close to this. Harry's tongue flicked out to taste Malfoy; cinnamon and something uniquely _Draco_. Harry pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against Malfoy's.

Malfoy squeezed his hand. "Ever think we'd end up here?" he asked quietly.

Harry laughed, a little breathlessly. "Not in a million years."

"Funny; I always knew," Malfoy said softly. "So much for the famed brilliance of Harry Potter."

"Hermione's always thought me daft," Harry replied, and Malfoy laughed.

"She is a know-it-all," he said, and Harry glared at him. "I meant it kindly," Malfoy added.

Harry silenced him with another kiss, just as light and fluttery as before. He sighed when they parted. "Malfoy…"

"I think we've made it past last names, don't you?" he asked.

Harry's lips turned up in a small smile. "Draco, then." The name sounded foreign in his mouth, but delicious. "Draco," he said again, drawing his name out slowly, savoring it.

"Harry," Draco affirmed. He sighed, the edges of a groan slipping in. "I've wanted to call you that for so long, you have no idea."

"You could've said something."

Draco snorted. "And have you hex me? Or worse, laugh at me? Hardly. I had to let you get there yourself."

"Well, here I am."

Draco smiled. "Yes, here you are," he said. "And it only took you seven years." Then he broke the mood entirely by yawning hugely. Harry laughed again.

"I suppose it's about time we got back to sleep," he said.

"Mmm," Draco replied. His eyes slipped shut, and Harry thought he had never looked more beautiful. His head was starting to crowd with thoughts of their conversation, maybe with an edge of panic, but he pushed it away.

"Goodnight," he whispered.

"Night, Harry."


	10. Chapter 10: Running Forward Blindly

**A/N:** So this thing is happening where I'm writing so much, so quickly that I'm at least four chapters ahead of what's being published, so when I go to write the author's note, I have no idea what's going on, and I have to reread the whole chapter first.

Okay, post re-reading: Not much to say about this one, actually. A bit fluffy, a bit angsty, starting to have the beginnings of some important conversations. But, y'know, they're boys, so getting anything coherent out of them is a bit ridiculous.

There are AWESOME things coming up, though! I can't say a word about them, but chapter fourteen is going to blow your minds.

Also, a special thanks to **RebeccaMariePotterMalfoy**, whose review came at exactly the right moment and nearly brought tears to my eyes. Thank you, love, for being so incredibly wonderful.

**Chapter Ten:**

_**Running Forward Blindly.**_

Harry woke up, for the second morning in a row, wrapped in Draco's arms. This time they were spooning, Draco's body pressed against his own, a leg thrown casually over his and an arm holding him close. Harry smiled to himself and took Draco's hand, massaging the delicate skin, remembering the strength of last night. Draco shifted, muttering in his sleep.

Harry glanced at the clock; it was seven-forty, only five minutes before the alarm was set to go off. He turned around to face Draco, eliciting more muttering and a creased brow. Harry kissed him gently, using a finger to tilt his head up. Draco slowly, sweetly returned the kiss.

"What time's it?" he mumbled, still most of the way asleep.

"Twenty of. Almost time to get up."

Draco groaned, burying his face in Harry's neck. "It's taken me seven years to get you in bed. Can't we just sleep all day?"

Harry flushed a little. "No," he replied, tingles of nervousness starting to wind their way through his body. "C'mon, get up." He started to move out of bed, but Draco grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

"Just a few more minutes," He mumbled, finally cracking an eye open. "Your hair looks ridiculous."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You always say that."

"It's always true," Draco countered. "Now get back in bed."

Harry perched nervously on the edge of the bed. The more he woke up, the stranger the situation seemed. The thought of being in bed with another boy was enough to send him into a panic, never mind if that boy was Draco. But Draco still had his hand, was running his fingers over Harry's, and the proximity made it hard to think.

"Just realized we're in pajamas," Harry said. "Can't very well go to class like this."

Draco groaned. "Hand me my wand, then."

"You'll have to let go of me." When Draco didn't, Harry gently tugged his hand free, letting Draco's fall to the bed. "Where'd you put it?" he asked; the room was small enough he felt it should be obvious, but he saw only his own holly wand sitting on the floor between the couch and the fireplace.

"I dunno," Draco mumbled, annoyed. "I was half asleep when I got here."

Harry rolled his eyes and picked up his wand. "_Accio_ Draco's wand." It rolled out from under the couch and flew into Harry's hand, who tossed it to Draco. "I dunno what you expect to do," he muttered. "You can't apparate us to our rooms to change."

"You really are daft," Draco said, propping himself up on an elbow. "_Stolia_," he said, pointing his wand at Harry, who found himself suddenly dressed.

"How'd you—"

"It's called magic, Potter," Draco interrupted, pointing his wand at himself. "Er, Harry," he corrected himself, a smile creeping across his face. He repeated the charm, and then they were both fully dressed, ready for class. Harry waved his wand at the clock to prevent the alarm from going off, and turned to Draco.

"Are you ready to get up now?" he asked, somewhere between annoyed and amused.

Draco sighed hugely. "I suppose." He shuffled himself over to the edge of the bed and blearily rubbed at his eyes. "C'mere, let me fix your hair."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's an impossible task, you know," he said, but sat next to Draco on the bed. "I've been trying for years to get it to do something reasonable, and it's just not going to happen."

"We'll see about that." Draco started running his hands through Harry's hair, noting how Harry's eyes slipped shut and he relaxed into his touch.

"You're just deluding yourself," Harry sighed pleasantly. "Not that you should stop, or anything."

Draco smiled and took advantage of Harry's closed eyes and pliant body to lean forward and kiss him. Harry sighed, kissing him back, tangling his hands in Draco's hair.

"Watch it, Harry," Draco muttered against his lips. "I don't have time to fix my hair as well as yours."

Harry laughed breathlessly. "You're so—" Draco took advantage of Harry's open mouth to slide his tongue inside, earning himself a low moan that sent shivers running down his body. Harry fisted his hands in Draco's hair despite the warning, kissing him thoroughly, exploring and memorizing his mouth. Draco moaned back, pressing his chest against Harry's, running a hand down his back to rest on his hip, pulling him even closer. Harry took his lower lip between his teeth, biting gently, and Draco whimpered.

"Mmm, Harry," he breathed, and Harry jerked away, blushing furiously.

"We should get to class," he muttered, not meeting Draco's eyes.

"Harry, what—"

"McGonagall will throw a fit if we're late," he said, realizing he didn't have his book bag, never mind his homework. "Goddammit," he muttered under his breath. He whirled around to face Draco, who was still sitting on the bed, lips pink from being thoroughly kissed and eyes filled with things Harry didn't understand. "Draco, come on."

"Yeah, right," he said weakly, standing up and following Harry out of the room and to the Transfiguration classroom, the two boys hurrying through the hallways in silence. Harry gently bumped Draco's hand with his own before sliding in next to Ron, leaving Draco to wonder whether or not it had been intentional.

"Hey, mate," Ron said. "You weren't at breakfast."

"Er, no," Harry replied. "Slept in."

"Not in your room, you didn't," Neville chimed in from behind them. "I brought your bag, Harry. Figured you might need it."

Harry wanted to hug him. "Thanks," he said, taking it gratefully and retrieving his Transfiguration things. "Really, Neville. You're a lifesaver."

"So where were you then?" Ron asked. Harry was worried of a reprise of their previous fight, but Ron seemed in a good enough mood. "Off doing Merlin knows what with Malfoy?"

Harry flushed. "Er, yeah."

Ron's eyes widened. "All night?"

"Uh—"

Harry was saved from answering by Professor McGonagall entering the classroom. With a flick of her wand their essays flew to the front of the room and landed on her desk. She glanced at the pile, then at the classroom. "We're a paper short, I see," she said, almost conversationally. She waved her wand over the papers again "Mr. Malfoy? Getting in trouble already, are we?"

Harry looked over at Draco, his stomach twisting in knots. It was his fault Draco didn't have his paper, but he could hardly say that to his professor.

"Purebloods have no need to transfigure their pets," Malfoy sneered, causing titters of laughter from the Slytherins. "We don't interact with _muggles_."

"But you—" Hermione started, causing Ron to elbow her in the side.

Professor McGonagall turned to face Hermione. "Do you have something you'd like to share with the class, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Er, no. Sorry."

"Right then. Ten points from Slytherin, and a detention if you don't get your act together, Mr. Malfoy. Now turn to page twenty, and read the first three paragraphs."

Harry did as she said, but he couldn't focus on the words in front of him. Now that he was sitting with Gryffindors, and Draco was back to his usual, holier-than-thou self, memories of last night and even this morning seemed impossible. And if they had happened, if Harry had really spent the night with Malfoy, had really kissed him, repeatedly, something was very, very wrong.

"You alright?" Ron whispered. "You're all pale, and you look like you're going to throw up."

"I'm fine," Harry muttered, trying to force himself to read the chapter. _In cases where the animal in question is… _Harry glanced over at Draco, who was calmly reading his book. Was he mad at him for not explaining to McGonagall what had happened? Or was he upset that Harry wasn't sitting with him? What…what if Draco hadn't meant anything by what had happened, was just trying to get a quick shag out of him? Harry turned back to his book furiously. That was ridiculous. He knew that. He was the one who had instigated everything, who had kissed him at the Quidditch pitch, dragged him to the Room of Requirement in the middle of the night, practically demanded to be held.

Harry's stomach twisted even tighter. What had he been doing? In the light of day (and when Malfoy wasn't standing in front of him, shirtless, dripping wet), he found his actions terrifying.

"Mr. Potter!"

McGonagall's voice cut through his thoughts, and he looked up guiltily. "Yes, Professor?"

"For the third time, can you please explain to the class the laws regarding the transfiguration of animals?"

"I—uh…" He saw Hermione, two seats over, squirming in her seat, physically restraining herself from answering for him. And a quick glance at Draco saw him looking straight ahead, eyes glazed over with boredom. "Er…"

"Neither Miss Granger nor Mr. Malfoy are going to answer for you, Potter," she said sternly. "Five points from Gryffindor. Does anyone else know the answer?"

Hermione's hand shot up, and she started talking before she had a chance to be called on. Harry tuned her out, gnawing anxiously on his lip, the lip that still tasted like Draco.

Ron kicked Harry's shin, and, at his look, gestured slightly at the paper he had set in front of him.

_What happened between you and Malfoy?_

Harry glanced up at McGonagall, but she seemed wrapped up in demonstrating something on a Crup that was sitting on the desk. Harry rested the tip of his pen against the page, unsure of how to answer.

_It's complicated._

He passed the note back to Ron, knowing full well that wasn't enough of an answer. Ron scrawled something down, then pushed the note back.

_Tell me, or I'll set your hair on fire. George taught me how over the summer._

Harry was fairly certain that wasn't a bluff. He tapped the tip of his pen against the paper again, causing a series of inkblots. Ron grabbed the note back before Harry had a chance to reply.

_What, did you stay up all night snogging?_

Harry turned a furious red, and Ron's mouth fell open.

"Potter! Weasley!" Harry watched with utter panic as the note flew into the air and into McGonagall's hand. "There will be no passing of notes in my class! I'd think you were first years if I didn't know better." She looked at the page, and Harry saw with something like amazement that she pinked slightly. Then, with a flick of her wand, the paper turned into a sparrow and flew out an open window. "Another ten points from Gryffindor, and if I catch you at it again, it'll be fifty. Now pair off and come up and fetch a Crup to practice on. Heaven help those who still have forked tails by the end of class." Harry ended up with Neville, Ron quickly scooting his chair over to Hermione's, no doubt so he could tell her what Harry had said.

"I'll get the Crup," Neville said helpfully as Harry turned his chair around, so he could sit with Neville properly. He felt Hermione's eyes boring into the back of his head and refused to turn around, though he did find himself glancing at Draco, who finally looked back at him. As per usual, Harry couldn't read his expression at all, but he did feel a certain sense of—betrayal, was it?—at the fact that he had paired off with Goyle. He knew that was ridiculous, seeing as how he was the one who had sat with his fellow Gryffindors in the first place, but he couldn't seem to help it.

"Right, then," Neville said, arriving back and setting the terrier-like creature on his desk. "I reckon you better do it; I'm bollocks at transfiguration."

Harry thought he might be better himself if he had paid any amount of attention to the lecture, but he decided to give it a go. "_Separabuntio!_" he said nervously, pointing his wand at the creature's tail. A puff of purple smoke appeared, then quickly dissipated to reveal that the Crup's tail now forked into three ends, instead of two.

"Bloody hell, how'd that happen?" Harry asked, mystified, flipping through his book.

"Dunno, but at least you didn't turn it blue," Neville said, gesturing over to where Dean and Seamus were struggling. "So where'd you end up last night?"

"Uh, Room of Requirement," Harry said absently. "Oh, you're supposed to wave your wand counter-clockwise. Lemme try that." This time he did manage to remove the extra bit of tail he had conjured, but now his Crup, too, was turning blue, and started yapping loudly.

"Try saying it without so much anger," Hermione said, leaning over. "How'd you feel if someone was trying to sever your tail, but turned you blue instead?"

"I don't have a tail, Hermione," Harry snapped.

Hermione looked at him with sympathy. "Ron told me what happened," she said quietly. "If you need to talk—"

"Eyes on your own Crup, Miss Granger," McGonagall interrupted.

Harry had forgotten just how sharp her eyes were. He heaved a sigh. "Wanna give it a go?" he asked Neville. "Don't think you can do much worse than me."

"Suppose so," he said glumly. He raised his wand, pointed it at the tail, and, with one eye closed, uttered the spell. The blue started to fade away, but the extra bit of tail reappeared. Neville groaned. "I told you I can't do it," he said hopelessly.

"Class, everyone look over here, please." Harry looked up, and his stomach dropped as he saw she was standing next to a very satisfied Draco. "See how Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Goyle severed the end of the tail so neatly? One could hardly tell it's a wizarding pet. And," she added, a bit severely, "there's not a hint of blue. For those of you who aren't so lucky, I might remind you to rotate your wands _counter_-clockwise."

Harry turned back to his own Crup, muttering angrily under his breath. "I've _done_ that already," he said, beginning to raise his wand.

"Maybe you should wait a minute before trying again," Neville said nervously. "Until you don't look like you want to murder the thing."

Harry thought this was rather wise. He set his wand down on the table and rested his head in his hands. What, exactly, was he doing with Malfoy? And what on earth possessed him to tell Ron? He supposed he'd be cornered soon enough by him and Hermione, demanding an explanation he didn't have.

"What did Hermione think you needed to talk about?" Neville asked. "Cause I'm a very good listener, you know."

Harry couldn't help smiling. "Thanks, mate, but I think I've got to handle this one on my own."

After a moment's pause, Neville asked, "Does it have anything to do with the way Malfoy's been staring at you all class?"

Harry immediately glanced over at Draco, who was talking to Goyle, facing away from him. "He hasn't—"

"Oh yes he has," Neville replied. "He's just better at hiding it than you."

Harry flushed furiously, looking back down at the desk. "It's got—nothing's going on—Quidditch," Harry stammered.

"Quidditch?" Neville asked sounding entirely unconvinced.

"Yeah, Quidditch." Harry took a deep breath. "Alright, lemme try this bloody spell again."

It took the rest of the class, but by the time they left, Harry and Neville had successfully managed to turn their Crup into what looked like nothing more than a jack terrier. Harry was on his way out of the room with Hermione, Ron and Neville when he heard his name ring out across the room.

"Potter!" Draco drawled. "May I have a word with you, if it suits the reigning Golden Boy?"

Pansy and Blaise snickered as they shoved passed Harry, who flushed, and walked over to Draco. He was very aware McGonagall had an eye on them, and couldn't think of what he'd want to talk about here, in public.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he snapped.

"Just to congratulate you on _finally_ turning your Crup right," he sneered. "Pity it took you so long, though Longbottom nearly setting it on fire was one for the ages."

Harry scowled at him. "Really, Malfoy, what do you want? I'm going to be late for Charms."

"Like I said, just a congratulations." He held out his hand, and Harry, slowly and suspiciously, shook it. He felt a piece of parchment being pressed against his palm, and carefully took the note. "Maybe next time you'll manage it before my hair goes grey."

"Right," Harry said and left, running to catch up to his friends.

"What'd Malfoy want with you?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Harry replied, fingering the note, wondering when he'd have a chance to look at it unseen. "Just making fun of me and Neville for taking so long to get the spell right."

"Uh huh," Ron said, entirely unconvinced. This time it was Hermione's turn to elbow Ron, who jerked away and looked at her angrily. "What was that for?"

"Leave Harry alone," she said. "He's got a lot to think about."

"I don't suppose anyone's going to tell me what's going on," Neville asked forlornly.

"I imagine you'll find out soon enough," Ron said, then added, not unkindly, "Hogwarts is known for its gossip, after all."

"Not if you don't start it," Harry snapped. He sighed. "Look, just let it go, alright?"

"I _told_ you he needed space," Hermione said self-righteously. "Now let him be. He'll talk to us when he's ready."

"I wish you'd just let me speak for myself," Harry said huffily.

Hermione looked admonished. "I'm sorry," she said. "What do you want?"

Harry realized he might have spoken out of turn. "Er, some space," he muttered. "Time to think."

Hermione's self-satisfied grin returned. "See?"

The conversation was thankfully cut short as they walked into Charms. Hermione immediately looked anxious, and raised her hand before half the class had sat down.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Flitwick asked.

"About the homework for last class—"

Flitwick waved his hand. "Just practicing shielding spells, which you hardly need to worry about. Today, however, we'll be working on…"

Harry glanced around himself, then carefully unfolded the note under the table.

_Blimey, Harry, could you be any more obvious? Quit staring at me in class; I've got a reputation, you know._

_Oh, and Quidditch at the usual time?_

As soon as Harry read it, the note turned to ash. Had he really been that obvious? Neville had mentioned it, but Harry figured that was just because they were sitting together. Apparently not. But the prospect of Quidditch was…good. Yes, good. Because it wasn't like late-night make-out sessions with your sworn enemy—who also happened to be your Quidditch partner—were weird at all, or required any thought whatsoever.

Regardless, Harry had to rely on Ron and Hermione to make it appear as if he was paying attention through Charms. As soon as he thought he'd gotten the last bit of Draco out of his head, he'd remember the feel of his fingers sliding across his hand, or how absolutely incredible he had tasted, and then he could think of nothing else. He was tearing himself apart with desire on one hand and angry confusion on the other. He wasn't gay, he _wasn't_, he had dated Cho and Ginny after all, and even if neither of them kissed as well as Draco, well, that was hardly Harry's fault. And as for Malfoy's supposed Death Eater status, he had sworn up and down that he had been forced into it and, given his lineage, Harry wouldn't have been surprised. And there had been something in his eyes, something that looked like anger as strong as Harry felt for Voldemort and his followers. Perhaps a conversation about that was due, but in the mean time, Draco really did seem benign.

In almost a daze, Harry heard the class end around him, and he walked down to the Great Hall, an expression that looked almost like vacancy on his face. But Ron and Hermione knew him better than that, and they let him alone, talking brightly with Neville, who was occasionally giving Harry worrying glances.

"He had a really bad nightmare last night," Harry vaguely heard Neville say. "Is that what this is about?"

"No," Hermione cut in quickly, then added kindly, "Let it alone, Neville."

"Alright, then," he said, sitting down at the Gryffindor table, Harry on one side and Ron and Hermione opposite him. They ate in relative silence, Harry continually glancing over at the Slytherin table, never seeing the person he was looking for.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

Harry was jerked out of his stupor at the unfamiliar voice. He almost certainly would have continued to ignore it, but the person speaking had an American accent, and the surprise of hearing such a thing in the Great Hall was enough to distract him from even Draco.

Standing nervously next to Neville was the girl he assumed was Aurora; this was the first time Harry had seen her up close, and he found she was rather pretty, in a Hufflepuff sort of way. She had a mass of dark, curly hair (_a flash of his dream, of Bellatrix standing before him, shot through his head before disappearing_), bright green eyes, and an anxious smile.

"Think she's talking to you, mate," Harry said quietly, nudging Neville, who was merely staring in silence.

"Oh! Er, yeah, of course," he stammered, clearing a place, knocking over a glass of pumpkin juice in the process.

She smiled prettily. "Thanks," she said, and sat down. "Professor McGonagall, the witch in charge of inter-school relations, said we should refrain from sitting with only our own house, and get to know everyone."

Hermione gave her a satisfied smile. "Thank you, I agree entirely. I'm Hermione, by the way, and this is Ron, and Harry," she said, gesturing at each boy in turn. "I assume you know Neville already?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, and Harry thought he could see a blush creeping up her neck. "Hannah introduced us." She gave Neville a shy smile from under thick lashes, then turned back to Hermione. "I'm Aurora, but you can call me Rory, if you'd like."

"Lovely to meet you," Hermione said cheerfully. "Enjoying Hogwarts, I hope?"

"Very much! It's so different from Barnstable; much bigger. We just had an old plantation from the eighteenth century; I'm still adjusting to how big and old it is here."

"Well, Neville should be a wonderful guide," Hermione said smoothly. "I heard he's already shown you the greenhouses."

Yes, Harry saw, she was definitely blushing a little as she answered, "Yes, my first day here. We're actually working on a potion together already."

"Oh?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow at Neville. "Why didn't you tell us you were tutoring this year?"

Neville started to stammer something out, and Harry smiled at his awkwardness, before once again turning to the Slytherin table.

"Oh, for goodness sake's, Harry!" Hermione suddenly burst out. "He's not here! He's got History of Magic!"

Harry stared at Hermione, jaw dropping. "I—what—don't know what—how do you even know that?"

"She's got a gift for knowing everyone's schedule," Ron said around a mouthful of pasta. "It's uncanny. Ask her about anyone in the school, and she can tell you where they are."

Hermione blustered at this. "Professor McGonagall needed some help over the summer with the scheduling, and she asked me," she answered, a bit pink. "It was just little stuff, really, trying to fit in everyone's classes." She turned to Harry with a stern expression. "Not that everyone here is studying as much as they should be." Harry, who had only signed up for the bare minimum of classes necessary to become an Auror, found himself shrinking under her gaze.

"Oh, 'Mione, leave him alone, he's got enough on his mind," Ron said, throwing her earlier words back. "All that business with—_Ow!_" He cut off, rubbing his shin angrily. "Blimey, Harry, you didn't have to kick me so hard."

"Yeah, I did," Harry said pointedly. He turned back to Hermione. "Did you really memorize everyone's schedule?"

"No, of course not," she snapped. "I had far more important—"

"She just looked up his after she figured out you two were playing Quidditch," Ron interrupted. "Though how she figured out that one, I haven't got a clue."

"It's not always like this," Neville said quietly to Aurora, who was looking a little nervous.

Harry couldn't help grinning. "Yeah, actually, it kind of is. Never a dull moment round here." He felt much more relaxed now that he knew Draco wasn't about to show up, and managed to help Hermione steer the conversation back to safer grounds.

The rest of lunch flew by, and Harry intentionally partnered with Neville during Herbology, unable to resist teasing him about Aurora. He watched with delight as his friend got redder and redder, and more and more quiet, until Neville finally burst out,

"Harry, would you just shove it! I didn't say anything about Malfoy because I was being _nice_; blimey, after your staring in class and all the half-finished sentences during lunch, did you really think I haven't caught on?"

Harry stared at him, very aware of how quiet the rest of the class was, of all the eyes on the back of his head. "Neville, shut up," he said quietly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Neither do you."

The rest of class was spent in silence.

Harry was bullied into spending the time between Herbology and dinner studying with Ron and Hermione, despite the fact that he felt he had no reason to study for either Defense Against the Dark Arts or Muggle Studies, though he couldn't come up with a reason as to why he didn't need to write his History of Magic essay. But he practiced deflecting hexes with Hermione, taught Ron about electricity, and slogged his way through the history of wizarding relations. Despite his frequent whining, he was rather proud of himself for finishing all his homework before dinner—or, perhaps more accurately, was pleased with Hermione for forcing him to.

However, this left his mind free to wander through dinner, eyes flicking back and forth between the clock, the Slytherin table, from which Draco was mysteriously absent, and at least giving an effort to focus on what his friends were saying. But their words washed over him, and the closer it got to seven, the tighter his stomach got. He was desperately trying to organize his thoughts, to corral the wild spinning that made him a little dizzy, and finally ended up with a series of facts, though they by no means encompassed everything he was feeling.

The first was inescapably obvious: he liked Draco. Or something. This was a hugely difficult thing to admit, despite how easy it had been to kiss him. As much as Harry's reason reared against the idea, there was no doubt he was attracted to the other boy, and it would be useless to proceed as if he didn't.

Another, almost as ridiculous, determination was that Draco fancied him as well. Perhaps more than fancied; all evidence pointed to a significantly long infatuation, though Harry could only guess at exactly how long, or how deep Draco's feelings ran. That was a conversation that, while perhaps useful, terrified Harry, and he wasn't eager to bring it up. He was, barely, dealing with them being…whatever they were, and he wasn't about to make it more complicated.

Also, Harry had no idea how to go about having a relationship with a boy. Was their relationship official? Did it need to be? How would he do that? Was he supposed to ask Draco out? Or was Draco supposed to do that? Were they to go on dates? Harry was fairly certain that Draco had at least slept with other boys before—that comment about Blaise last night had not escaped his notice—but had he actually dated any? Had he ever been in a real relationship at all, or had he just taken advantage of his position to get what he wanted?

Then there were the less savory facts. Like how Draco was a Slytherin, and Harry was a Gryffindor. That the Malfoys were an infamously evil wizarding family, while Harry's name was practically synonymous with all things light and good, caused so many problems that even trying to list them made Harry's head spin. First, and most mundanely, was Draco's parents' reaction to their relationship, which there was zero chance of being positive. Not to mention the worry, however poorly founded, that Draco could at any moment turn to the dark side and uphold the Malfoy legacy. Harry was probably getting ahead of himself at these things; his more immediate concerns regarded the Slytherins and their hatred of him, and Ron's voice in the back of his head questioning Draco's motives and Moody's reminding him to have _constant vigilance_.

But the thing about all these things, even listed out in a quasi-organized fashion, was that Harry still didn't know how to deal with any of them. And, as seven drew ever closer, Harry found he had another thought, one last question that needed to be answered before he could proceed even just to the Quidditch field—how was he to greet Draco? Clearly in class they were nothing more than the enemies they had always been, but what about in the dark, outside, alone?

"Is it as hot as yesterday?" Harry blurted out, interrupting Ron's explanation of why the Chudley Cannons were sure to make a comeback this year.

Ron raised an eyebrow at him. "You walked to Herbology and back. What do you think?"

Harry tried to remember this, but the information was apparently unavailable. "Come on, Ron, I don't remember."

"I assume you're real question is whether or not you'll need your Quidditch robes," Hermione said. "And yes, Harry, I'd fetch them if I were you. The wind is supposed to pick back up, and once the sun goes down, the field will be frigid."

Harry didn't know if he should glare at her or thank her. "Right then. I better get going."

"Have fun," Hermione said lightly.

"But not too much fun!" Ron shouted after her. Harry heard the familiar smack of Hermione's hand against Ron's head, and his angry protesting.

"Have has much fun as you want!" Hermione said, now nearly yelling to be heard across the Hall. Harry wished he could disappear as he felt the entire school staring at him, no doubt putting together the rumors about him and Draco, and Hermione's shouted encouragements. _Maybe I'm just being paranoid_, Harry thought as he hurried up to his room, threw on his Quidditch robes, and proceeded to the field, growing more and more nervous with every step. Just as he was about to give up, turn around and spend the rest of the night hiding in his room, he caught sight of Draco, who looked positively stunning in the fading light. His dark robes set off his pale skin, and his grey eyes shined in the dark.

"Harry, I'd almost given up on your arrival," he drawled, leaning against the wall and letting Harry come to him.

"Er, yeah, me too," Harry stammered. "I'll just get my broom then, shall I?" He ducked into the changing rooms, grabbed his broom, and stood next to Draco awkwardly, not quite looking at him. "What'll it be for stakes, then?"

"Harry," Draco said sternly. "Look at me."

Every neatly-arranged thought he had compiled flew out of his head, and he turned to face Draco with something approaching panic. "Look, I—"

Draco silenced him with a kiss, sliding his lips along Harry's as he rested a hand on his hip. He pulled away after what seemed like far too short a time. "You're awkward enough without all this," he said, gesturing, "between us. So just say your piece, and get it out of the way."

Harry would have, if he had any idea what that was. "You like me, then?" he asked, sounding just as awkward as Draco accused him of being, if not more so.

Draco had to bring one hand up to stifle a laugh. "Yes, Harry, I like you."

"Right." Harry shuffled uncomfortably, still not meeting his eyes, wanting nothing more than to get on his broom and fly away. Except, there was something in his heart, in his stomach, pulling him towards Draco, making him stay and delighting in just hearing his first name from the other boy. "I…I like you, too," he stammered, looking at the ground.

"I had figured that out, funnily enough," Draco replied. "Anything else you want to get off your chest? Other than all those robes, of course," he added with a bit of a leer.

Harry flushed. "You're not making this easy," he said indignantly.

"I'm a Malfoy, Potter. I never make anything easy." The ease at which he slipped back into his old persona scared Harry a little, bringing credence to his fears. Draco groaned. "Oh come off it, Harry. Can't even take a joke?"

"I just—I've never done this before!" Harry said in exasperation. "You might be all suave and charming and could have anyone you wanted, but I'm stumbling and awkward and I don't know what to say!"

Draco stepped forward, so close they were almost touching, and gently brushed a hand down Harry's face. "It's alright, you don't have to say anything." He gave Harry a chaste kiss. "We can talk about it, whatever it is, later."

Harry nodded gratefully. "So. Stakes."

Draco's expression turned from sweet and caring to almost dangerously clever, and Harry's stomach flipped. "If I win, you've got to let me have complete control over the Room of Requirement tonight," he said.

Harry's stomach flipped again. The idea that Draco was just assuming they'd be spending another night together was not only demanding and arrogant, but was pushing things too fast. _Another thing to add to my list_, Harry thought wildly. _I'm a snail while Malfoy's a cheetah, stalking me. Wait, cheetahs don't stalk snails, that doesn't make any sense. I'm, er—_

Draco waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello, earth to Harry. Is that really so much to ask?"

"What if I was planning on spending the night in my dormitory?" Harry asked croakily.

There was a split second where Harry thought Draco might look hurt, but arrogance quickly replaced it. "I'm irresistible," he said smoothly. "And if I say you're sleeping in the Room of Requirement, then you are."

Bloody hell, why did that have to be so sexy? Harry had been all ready to protest indignantly, but found his mind suddenly blank. "I—fine," he said, more harshly than he meant. "Does that mean if I win, I get to control it?"

Draco's face scrunched adorably. "Only if you promise it'll be bigger than a goddamned cupboard."

Harry eyed Draco, wondering if he knew about his life before Hogwarts. "Right, then, I think I can do that. Ready?"

"On your mark."

Harry counted down from three, then rose into the air, eternally thankful for the distraction of flying. Hermione had been right; the wind was back, getting stronger by the minute, and while the sun was only just touching the horizon, the temperature was already starting to drop. Harry did a few laps of the field just to clear his head, to try to let go of all his worries and stress. _What will be, will be_, he thought, trying to convince himself the words were true.

Draco was suddenly at his side, looking cryptically at him. "Can I fly with you?" he asked, shouting a little to be heard over the wind.

Was this a trick, to get him to lose? Or did Draco really just want his company? Harry didn't know which would be more welcomed. "Suppose so," Harry replied.

Draco smiled beautifully, and Harry was struck by how stunning he really was. The setting sun flecked his silvery hair with shots of pink and gold, and it seemed his skin itself was glowing in the dim light. "You don't look too bad yourself, Potter," he said mildly, and Harry blushed, realizing how obviously he had been staring. Again.

"Er, yeah. Gonna look for the snitch now," he stammered, and started his search for real, trying to ignore the boy flying beside him. He swooped across the field as the night darkened, eyes peeled for the solitary fleck of gold that would end this game and…what? Send him back to the Room of Requirement with Draco? Not that he had a problem with that, exactly, just what Hermione had said earlier—he needed time to think.

_Fat lot of good that's done me_, Harry thought darkly. He slowed to a stop and Draco kept by his side, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Your family…" Harry trailed off.

Draco stiffened. "What about them?"

"Er, well, you and I…"

"What about us?"

Harry flustered. Why was Draco making this so hard for him? What was he supposed to say that would unlock whatever Draco was keeping from him? "I don't imagine your parents will like the idea of you with a boy," he said eventually.

Draco shrugged gracefully. "They got over it when I insisted on bringing Blaise home with me."

Harry's stomach wrenched at the thought of Draco being with anyone with him, which was of course ridiculous. It wasn't as if he was still seeing Blaise now. Right? "You expect they'll accept me, then?" Harry asked.

"Mother only wants me to be happy," Draco said. "And Father…" he trailed off, eyes chips of ice. "Well, it hardly matters."

"And you're not with Blaise anymore?" Harry forced out before he could talk himself out of it. "Or Pansy?"

Draco smiled coyly. "Why, Harry, are you accusing me of sleeping around?"

Harry flushed darkly for what must have been the hundredth time that day. "I don't know, Draco, are you?"

His question wiped the grin off Draco's face. "No," he snapped. "And I'll not have you thinking that lowly of me. I would never—" He stopped suddenly, seeming to trip over his words. "—at least in a serious…er, when it was expected of me—" Harry gaped at Draco again. Had he managed to _fluster_ the other boy? Harry thought he had. He bit his lip against a smile, thinking how cute he looked. Draco let out a huff of annoyance. "Potter, are you asking me to go steady with you?"

As confused and insecure as he was, Harry could tell the use of his last name was meant as a protection against the possibility of getting hurt. "Yeah, _Malfoy_, I suppose I am," he said nonchalantly, throwing the name back at him, pretending his fingers weren't gripping his broom so tightly they were turning white, pretending his heart wasn't pounding in his ears, pretending he was entirely composed.

"Right, then," Draco said, not saying anything. Harry had to resist the urge to prod him for a more satisfactory answer; he had to be patient, wait it out, like Draco had apparently waited for him. "I…yeah. Going steady sounds…good." He was flushed, and looking somewhere to Harry's right. "I see your point about my parents," he said contemplatively. "Although…" He trailed off, eyes darkening. "That really is a conversation for another day."

Yet again, Harry chose not to press the matter, though he was steadily getting more and more intrigued. "And the rest of your house? The school?"

Draco scowled. "You're not making this easy, Potter."

Harry wanted to let out a frustrated scream. _Draco_ thought _he_ was making this difficult? It would have been funny if it weren't so ironic. "I just want to know where we stand," he choked out, cutting himself off before saying something rude.

"I assume Granger and the Weasel—_Weasley_," he sneered at Harry's expression, "know already? You've never been able to keep your trap shut around them."

Harry wondered if this hostility was real, or just a layer of protection. Probably both. "Ron figured it out for himself," he said. "And told Hermione." He paused. "Neville also figured it out. And, er, there's a chance all of Herbology knows."

Draco groaned. "I suppose there's no backing out now. Alright, then, tell whoever you want." Harry was hurt. Did Draco want the opportunity to back out? Was he—? "Oh, get that look off your face, Potter. Even if you made an Unbreakable Vow to me that you wouldn't tell anyone, I still wouldn't leave."

Ah, then. He had been that obvious about it. "I, er…"

Draco smiled. "It's alright, Potter. You're adorable when you're insecure. Anything else you want to ask me before we go back to the game?"

Harry was starting to figure that Potter might be a nickname, might be a thing they had been sharing for so long that it was almost sweet. "Date?" he managed.

Draco frowned at him. "Today? Uh, the fourth, I think. Why?"

Harry glowered at him. "No, you daft idiot. Go on a date. With me."

Draco's eyes widened. "O—oh," he stammered. "Well, yes, I suppose that would be fitting." He shook his head a little, as if to clear it. "Nobody's asked me on a date before. I mean, no one serious. No one that I actually wanted to go out with." Draco took a deep breath. "I'm rambling, aren't I? Father always tells me I ramble when I get nervous."

Harry had to bite back a grin. "It's alright," he said. "Saturday night, then? I'll get you from the dungeons at eight?"

"Better make it the front hall," Draco said. "Unless you want to be ambushed by my entire house."

"Front hall it is, then," Harry said. He urged his broom forward the tiniest bit, so he was sitting next to Draco, facing him. "Bring swimming trunks."

Draco's eyes bulged out. "The Black Lake?" he asked in shock. "It's bloody freezing!"

Harry grinned. "Trust me." It was stupid, but he had had the idea for this date since fourth year, and he was rather pleased to have the chance to go on it. He'd just have to ambush Neville in time.

"I do," Draco said, rather quietly now that they were so close together. It made Harry feel rather guilty for his earlier thoughts. Harry reached out and brushed his hand against Draco's, causing him to jump a little. "Your hand's so warm," he sighed. The sun had almost completely set, and it was quite chilly, especially with the wind.

"Then let's get going before you freeze entirely," Harry said, and set off. He heard cursing from behind him, and his grin widened.

"Do something about the darkness, would you?" Draco shouted at him. "I left my wand on the ground."

Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out his wand, said, "_Lumos maxima_," and watched as the ball of light left his wand and hovered over the middle of the field, trying not to think of the last time he had used the charm. Lumos was common enough, but he was certain he hadn't cast Lumos maxima since that night in the cave with Dumbledore.

"What're you doing just sitting there, Potter?" Draco taunted, whizzing past him. "Gonna just sit there and let me win?"

Harry shook himself. "You wish."


	11. Chapter 11: Words Better Left Said

**A/N: **It's so funny; I can tell when everyone's gotten out of work or classes by the sudden influx of reviews right around six and seven. It's rather adorable, if I do say so myself.

I can't say much about this chapter without giving things away, but know that it tackles some issues, making certain things more realistic and understandable.

Also, just so you've got something to look forward to: at the publication of chapter fifteen, the rating of this story will go up to M. I'll leave the rest to your imagination until the time comes.

**Chapter Eleven:**

_**Words better left said.**_

Draco won the match, completely blindsiding Harry as he rushed to the finish. He flew over to Harry, flying around him in obnoxious circles, waving the snitch in his face.

"You'll be sleeping in Slytherin colors tonight, Potter!"

Harry glared at him. "I did last night, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, you did, didn't you?" Draco said contemplatively, still circling. "You look good in Slytherin colors. If only I had my wand..."

Harry grabbed the edges of his cloak and wrapped them firmly around himself. "You'll not have me wearing green and silver," he snapped. "Now stop showing off and let's go."

Draco did not stop, instead asking, "Aren't you going to ask me where I was at dinner? I've been waiting all night for the question, but it seems you've picked entirely the wrong moment to stop butting into my business."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine. Draco, where were you at dinner?"

Draco smirked, a bright light twinkling in his eyes. "Wanking, so I could get through this match and stay focused. Look liked it worked too, seeing as how I won." Harry's jaw dropped as he stared at Draco, who burst into laughter. "Merlin's beard, I've been waiting to see that expression on your face all day! Relax, Potter, I was studying, like a good little boy."

"I-you-"

Draco glanced down and grinned wickedly. "Looks like someone else is in need of a release of pressure, eh?"

Harry blushed furiously, finally dropping down, out of reach of the circling Draco. He landed, jumping off his broom, securely wrapping his cloak around himself before Draco could join him.

"I could always give you a hand," he said as he joined Harry on the ground, voice dripping with innuendo.

"Sod off," Harry snapped. "Come on, let's get inside before someone catches us out so late." He extinguished the ball of light hovering over the field, then started walking back to the castle. Draco grabbed his hand, and Harry looked at him in surprise.

"I thought we'd already decided the whole school knows," he said. "So what's the point in not holding hands?"

Harry smiled; he never would've pegged Draco as someone who liked physical affection, but clearly he had been wrong. "Alright, then."

The point was moot; they hadn't seen anyone by the time they reached the seventh floor corridor, and Draco dropped his hand, looking at the wall contemplatively.

"Hmm," he mused. "What do I want...?"

Harry's stomach twisted anxiously. Suddenly the seemingly innocuous bet was anything but. "Hurry up, Malfoy," he snapped, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Potter," Draco replied evenly. "I won't ruin your precious innocence...at least not yet." He finally began pacing, muttering something under his breath, and a metal door much like the ones in the dungeons appearing at the last pass. "Come on, then," Draco said, opening the door and disappearing into the dim room.

Harry followed, preparing himself for anything. But what was inside hardly came as a surprise; the room was significantly larger than it had been either of the other times they had been here, which certainly came as no shock. The comfortable, plushy couch had been replaced with an antique chaise that looked as though it would break if one sat down too heavily. The fireplace was still there, burning merrily, though the Malfoy crest hung above it. There was a huge, four-poster bed along the left wall, like an oversized version of the ones in their dorms, decked out in Slytherin colors, as promised. There was a dresser against the right wall instead of the hatch leaning down to the kitchens, and Harry figured Draco was tired of arriving to class in rumpled or magicked clothes. A tall shelf stood next to it, filled with books so old they looked as if they'd disintegrate if touched. There was also a small window, just large enough to let in Capry, should he choose to appear.

The entire room made Harry uncomfortable, reminding too closely of the last time he had been in Malfoy Manor, and the dream he had had last night. "Does it have to be so...Malfoy-ish?" Harry asked.

Draco laughed lightly, hanging his Quidditch robes on a nearby coatrack. "Of course, what were you expecting? Surely not the crumbling Burrow, or your precious Gryffindor dorms. This is my night to have it any way I like, and I like my room at home."

"This is what your room at home is like?" Harry asked, still standing by the door.

"Well my room's bigger," Draco said, considering. "And it's got more windows. Much lighter than this place. But I've decided I like seeing you in firelight, and I've gotten used to waking up in darkness at Hogwarts. Plus I've got a telly, tuned only to wizard channels of course, but it seemed wrong to bring such technology here. Why, don't you like it?"

Harry scuffed his feet on the floor. Even the carpet looked antique, and Harry felt guilty for daring to mar it with his feet. "Er..."

Draco laughed again. "Come on, Harry, it's not that bad. Feel how comfy the bed is." He plopped down on the edge, bouncing lightly. He patted the seat next to him. "Nothing's going to bite you, not without my say so."

Harry took off his shoes and walked carefully over to Malfoy, half-convinced that something was going to jump out and curse him before he'd even had a chance to respond. He slowly lowered himself onto the bed; it was comfy, he'd give Malfoy that. Much softer than what the dorms offered.

"See?" Draco said, leaning his head on Harry's shoulder and twining their fingers together. "Nothing to be afraid of."

"Hmfph," Harry replied, unconvinced.

Draco sighed dramatically. "Alright, Potter, what would you have me change?"

"Could you just get rid of the crest?" Harry asked, gesturing at it. "It's staring at me."

"It is not, and I won't," Draco said crossly. "If we're going to be together, you better get used to it.

"Then maybe the chaise? Something with a little more plush?" he asked hopefully.

"That chaise, or at least the one in my room at home, has been in my family for centuries," Draco lectured. He sounded almost dangerous. "Are you saying you don't like my family's taste in furniture?"

"No, of course not," Harry stammered. "Never mind. The room is fine."

"Alright then. There are pajamas in the top drawer," Draco said, gesturing at the cabinet. The drawer slid out, and Slytherin green silk pajamas flew across the room. "And clothes for the morning. I made sure to add Gryffindor colors, too, just for you."

"Thanks," Harry said tersely.

"It's the least I could do," Draco said, ignoring his tone entirely. "I don't know about you, but I've either been in classes or studying all day, and I've simply got to get out of these clothes." He waved his wand again, and was suddenly sitting next to Harry in nothing but a pair of boxers. Harry forgot how to breathe, forgot how to beat his heart, forgot how to think. He could do nothing other than take in the boy next to him, every available inch, balling his hands tight enough that his fingernails would leave marks in order to prevent himself from touching Draco.

He also saw, with a sickening wrench, the scars snaking over Draco's skin, the scars he had made when he had cursed him in the bathroom during sixth year. He had never apologized for that, but this didn't seem the time, not when Draco was so clearly pleased with himself.

Draco raised an eyebrow, a smile dancing in his eyes. "Yes, that's the reaction I usually get." Harry let out a low growl, entirely beyond his control. "Oh, you don't like the idea of others seeing me naked?" Draco asked innocently. "I'm afraid to say you're hardly the first."

Harry roughly grabbed the back of Draco's neck, pulling him near. Draco hummed quietly, opening his mouth slightly in anticipation of a kiss. Instead Harry attacked his neck, licking, biting, sucking, hard enough to leave marks. Draco gasped, letting one hand fall to Harry's thigh, digging his fingers in, needing to anchor himself to something. Harry worked his way down to his collarbone, attaching himself to the skin, sucking and pulling until a red mark appeared.

"A-are you _marking me_?" Draco gasped, barely able to form the words.

Harry's lips finally found his, hand going up to tangle in his hair. Draco moaned at the feeling of Harry's tongue forcing its way in, of how he took complete control of the situation, doing everything in his power to turn Draco into a quivering pile of need. Then he slowed, catching his breath, laying a series of kisses down his jawbone before pulling away.

"No, I don't like the idea," Harry stated firmly.

Draco stared at him with hazy eyes. "Wh-what idea, exactly?" he breathed.

Harry smirked, satisfied. "Of anyone other than me seeing you naked. Though," he added, glancing pointedly at Draco's boxers, "you aren't entirely bare."

"I…no, I'm not, I sleep in boxers," Draco said, trying to regain himself. "At home, _just_ in boxers, but sharing a dorm requires a certain amount of decorum I'm not willing to breach."

"We're not in a dorm," Harry said pointedly.

"No, but I didn't want to scare you off," Draco replied. "Which seems rather silly now," he added, fingering the bruise on his collarbone. "People will stare, you know."

"I've been stared at ever since I entered the wizarding world," Harry said. "I imagine you have as well, given your name and position."

"Yes, but not for having a trail of bruises down my neck."

Harry laughed. "These will be better stares, I think."

Draco looked at him, amused. "We'll see if you're still saying that by lunch. Double Defense Against the Dark Arts together first thing, remember? And we'll be walking in together, I assume, my neck covered with impressions of your teeth. I daresay the whole school will know by the time class is out."

"Good," Harry said firmly, his earlier fears completely banished. He wasn't sure if it was the conversation he and Draco had had earlier, or maybe the casual way he had stripped, as if Harry was meant to see him, but he was feeling much better.

"I'll bet you ten galleons I get a Howler from Father by dinnertime," Draco said, leaning back on his arms, stretching his legs out luxuriously. Harry watched intently. "He rather enjoys humiliating me, I think." Draco sighed almost nostalgically at the thought, and scooted himself the rest of the way onto the bed, leaning back against the mound of pillows, propped up so he was sitting. "Harry, are you just going to sit there in your uniform all night, or shall you join me?" Draco waved his wand, sending one of the sets of pajamas back into the dresser. "I'll leave those for you, if you'd like them," he said, tone of voice making it perfectly clear what he preferred.

Harry joined Draco on the pillows, but he chose to keep his clothes on for the time being. He and Ginny had not progressed past the removal of shirts, and he wasn't sure at all how he felt about lying next to a nearly naked Draco. Nor did he entirely trust himself not to do something better saved for another time, later on in their relationship.

"Or you could just wear the same dirty, smelly clothes forever," Draco rebuked. "I'm sure no one would notice the difference."

Harry glared at him, or at least tried to. He kept finding his eyes drawn lower, to the mark he had made on Draco's collarbone, to his pink nipples, only slightly darker than the rest of his skin, that started to prickle under his gaze, to the perfect, slender waist Harry found himself dying to wrap his legs around, and finally to the tantalizing line of his boxers, hands again itching to touch things that oughtn't be touched.

Draco smiled rather cat-like. "Mmm," he sighed, "I like this. Being looked at like I'm the most beautiful creature on the planet. I am, of course, but it's nice to be appreciated." He scowled slightly, brows knitting together. "Pansy and Blaise never took the time to truly admire my form." Harry actually took comfort in that; if their actions were that quick and frantic, there could hardly be time for a real relationship, right? "I assume by your obvious embarrassment about taking off your own clothes, you haven't the chance to show off to anyone before?"

Harry flushed, both from the shame at his naivety and Draco's words about showing off. He had never particularly fancied his looks one way or another; he was well toned, but rather short and hairy, and he tended to feel like a hobbit whenever he looked in the mirror.

"I can also infer you're a virgin, yes?" Harry's flush darkened, and he couldn't come up with a response to that, either. "Don't worry, Potter, I'm not going to pop that cherry, not tonight. I really wish you'd relax; I want to cuddle, but you're far to tense to be comfortable." Draco seemed to have caught on to Harry's thinking on the subject, because he added, "Pansy and Blaise never wanted to cuddle."

As much as Harry didn't like those names being constantly thrown at him, Draco was right that he enjoyed being told about all the things he got to do that the others didn't. He wished he had some old names to tease Draco with, but he was certain that saying, "Cho always used to cry whenever we kissed" or "Ginny wouldn't let me go beneath her bra" would not earn him any credibility. Nor would the fact that he had never been with a boy before.

"Harry, honestly. It's just a good cuddle." He paused, then added with a rather lecherous grin, "While I'm mostly naked, of course."

Harry's eyes slipped shut. "Draco…"

"Stop being such a prude." Draco lifted his arm, wrapped it around himself, and settled on his chest. "I'm _sure _this can't be _that _bad."

"I—…" Draco was warm against him, the skin of his back so smooth against his hand, his leg pleasantly heavy as he draped it across Harry's. "Mm, no, not that bad."

"And wouldn't it be better if…" Draco trailed off, taking advantage of Harry's distraction as he reached for his wand.

"If what?" Harry asked absentmindedly, rubbing circles on Draco's back.

"If you were half naked, too," Draco whispered mischievously, and waved his wand.

Harry jerked away, suddenly finding himself in the same state of dress as Draco. "Give me my clothes back!" he said, looking around for them.

"They're in the laundry hamper," Draco said, hovering the other pair of pajamas over to the dresser, then closing the drawer. "The house elves will take care of them."

Harry had once more curled his knees up to his chest, and was blushing furiously. "Draco, I—"

"There's no need to be embarrassed," Draco said. "I've seen it all before. More, in fact," he said, eyes drifting lower.

"Stop it," Harry snapped. "Just because you're a bloody exhibitionist doesn't mean that I am."

"Harry, this is not exhibitionism. If I showed up like this in class, perhaps. But in front of you, in front of my _boyfriend_…" he trailed off. "You're not showing any more than you will be when we go swimming in that wretched lake."

Harry thought he had a point at that. "Well…"

"And given how you've attacked me, leaving marks in all manner of places, I should think you owe me."

"Oh, all right, then," Harry said, an uncurled himself, excruciatingly aware of Draco's eyes sliding over his body, taking in every inch, every flaw.

"Why were you hiding this from me?" Draco said with a sigh. "Harry…" He trailed a hand down his chest, and Harry echoed his sigh. "Now stop blubbering and come cuddle with me," Draco demanded, coming back to himself. He pulled Harry close, and resumed his position on his chest. His hair was tickling Harry's skin, causing minute shudders to race through his body. "Isn't this lovely?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said nervously. He was far more exposed than he'd ever been, and despite Draco's candor, he couldn't relax, not entirely. But he resumed stroking his back, delighting at the soft sighs he was granted with in return. "Yeah, it's not all bad."

Draco smiled, and Harry could feel his lips moving against his skin, causing more shivers. "I thought you'd get used to the idea."

Harry looked down, and his heart started beating faster; not out of arousal, but sudden anxiety. He gently took Draco's left arm and turned it over.

"Harry, what're you—" Draco cut off, seeing what had caught Harry's attention. He tried to jerk his arm back, but Harry had a strong grip on his wrist and he wasn't letting go. "Don't," he said quietly. "Please, don't."

"How'd you get it?" Harry asked, gently tracing his fingers over the lines, following the snake across his skin.

"Harry…" Draco twisted and pulled, but he wasn't getting free until Harry had gotten his answers. Draco was well acquainted with Harry's stubbornness, and as little as he wanted to, started talking. "It was the summer before sixth year," he said quietly, turning into Harry's chest, muffling his words. "When Voldemort gave me the task of—of repairing the Vanishing Cabinet," stuttering over the real task. "It was a reward, for doing as he asked. But…"

"But?" Harry prompted gently.

"It was also a reminder, of what would happen to me if I failed. My family would be tortured and murdered in front of me, and I'd be next. I didn't want to—to do as he said, but I…" Draco was stammering, and Harry realized he was near tears. But he also had the feeling that this might be the first time Draco had ever talked about it, and perhaps it was good for him to get it out. "And then Snape, constantly watching over me, checking in, as if I was a baby. Of course…of course he was the one to actually do it, to kill Dumbledore. Though I might as well have, repairing the cabinet like that."

"It was the Unbreakable Vow," Harry said gently. "He couldn't help it."

Draco sniffed slightly, then turned to face him. "Unbreakable Vow? What are you talking about?"

Harry froze. Draco hadn't known? Harry had seen it in Snape's memories, after he had died. He just assumed Draco knew. "It's not my place to say," he said uncomfortably. "You should ask your mum about it."

Draco sat up, staring accusingly. "What do you mean, my mum? She and Snape made an Unbreakable Vow? How do you know about it? Have you been—been _spying_?"

Harry realized with a near panic that he wasn't the only one who had been wondering about the trust in their relationship. And now he had gone and made it seem as if he was just as bad as Draco had suspected. "No, Draco, it's nothing like that. When Snape died, he gave me his memories, and I saw it in the Pensieve."

Draco's eyes were still narrowed. "What's a Pensieve? _What Unbreakable Vow_?"

Stomach squirming, not sure if he was doing the right thing, Harry launched into the tale, telling Draco the story of the first time he had seen the Pensieve, of all the memories Dumbledore had showed him, and all of Snape's memories. Why he had protected Harry over the years, and about the Unbreakable Vow, about why Snape had been so intent on helping Draco. By the time he stopped talking, Draco was staring at him, almost if he had gone mad.

"You…you saw all this," Draco said quietly. "Snape…_wanted_ you to see it?"

"I don't know about me specifically, but yeah, someone," Harry answered. "He wanted everyone—well, not everyone, but the right people—to know."

"So all the times…" Draco trailed off, lost in his own memories. "I can't believe…"

Harry reached out and pulled Draco against him, holding him close. Harry remembered with blinding clarity how he had felt after he'd first seen Snape's memories, how it had changed everything, absolutely everything. "It's alright," Harry said, rather stupidly. "He was just helping in the only way he could."

"Yeah, by—by—" Draco sputtered, and Harry thought he was seeing the wrong side of things.

"By saving your life," Harry said. "By keeping you from making the biggest mistake of your life."

"He could have told me!" Draco yelled, and Harry felt tears splashing down his chest. "He didn't have to lie about it! I would have gone on with him, gone on faking until the Astronomy Tower. Doesn't anyone bloody _trust me_? The Dark Lord had to brand me, Snape had to keep the Unbreakable Vow to himself, making my life a living hell, and _you_, you couldn't be bothered to tell me any of this until now!"

"I thought you knew!" Harry said. "I thought, after the war, your mother would have—"

"Oh, you thought so, did you?" Draco wrenched out of Harry's arms and stared at him accusingly. "Do you have any idea what it was like growing up in my house? I never knew _anything_, nobody ever thought to tell _me_, because I was just a _kid_. A kid, who was supposed to kill the greatest wizard of all time. Surely nothing as mundane as an _Unbreakable Vow_ would have come up now, would it?"

Harry stared at him. "I didn't—"

"No, you didn't." Draco turned away from him, bringing his knees up to his chest, echoing Harry's position. Harry put a hand on his back, and thankfully Draco didn't pull away. But his entire body was shaking, and Harry would have bet all the gold in his vault that he was crying.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"Snape—Severus Snape, my godfather, one of the few people I ever loved—died because of _me_, because Voldemort thought he was the one who disarmed Dumbledore," Draco said, his voice remarkably clear through his tears. "I can't…"

"You learn to live with it," Harry said quietly. "My own godfather died saving me, too."

"At the hands of my aunt."

Harry didn't answer right away. "Yeah."

Draco let out a shuddering sigh. "She was always mad, you know, even before Azkaban. Being there just made her worse."

"I'm sorry," Harry said again.

"Well, she's dead now, isn't she?" Draco said, voice hollow.

"So's Voldemort," Harry offered.

"Yeah, you killed him." Draco's voice was utterly voice of emotion, and Harry had no idea how to respond. "Thank you."

Harry gaped at his back. He never would have thought he'd hear that, from Malfoy. "I—you're welcome?"

Draco turned to him, tear tracks streaking down his face, but an entirely genuine, if small, smile on his face. "I don't know what we would have done without you, Harry Potter."

Harry had yet to close his mouth. "You—"

"I know I should have helped," Draco said, inferring the rest of Harry's statement. "But I couldn't have, not with my Father, not with Voldemort breathing down the back of my neck. At least I saved your life when the Snatchers brought you to us. If they had known…"

"I know," Harry said. He pushed thoughts of Bellatrix torturing Hermione and killing Dobby, of Ollivander and Luna being held hostage out of his mind. Those were not Draco's crimes, he was not to be held responsible for what his family had done. He wrapped himself against Draco, his bare chest resting against Draco's bare back, the sensation not escaping him even now. Draco grabbed his hands with the desperation of a drowning man.

"Don't…don't tell anyone," Draco whispered. "I assume Granger and Weasley know, but don't tell anyone else."

Harry couldn't even begin to comprehend the sort of pride and loyalty to a family name that meant Draco would rather be known as the man who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, who nearly killed Voldemort, than nothing more than a pawn in Voldemort's game, but it was Draco's choice, and he would respect it. "Alright."

"And don't tell anyone, _anyone_, you caught me crying, again," he said, sniffing back the last of his tears. "I won't curse you this time, though."

"Thanks," Harry said with a small smile. "That way I won't have to nearly kill you again." He traced one of the scars he had caused, the one that curved over his right shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he sighed. "I really didn't know."

"It's alright," Draco said, and managed a crooked grin. "I think they look rather dashing, don't you think?"

Harry grinned back. "Most definitely."

"Pansy never liked them. She thought them ugly. And Blaise didn't ever say anything one way or the other. Even if you're lying, I like the idea of having a lover who doesn't mind them."

"I'm not lying," Harry said. "Merlin's beard, Draco, after everything I've told you tonight, why would I lie about that?"

Draco shrugged, and Harry saw he looked a little sheepish. "I suppose."

"Come on," Harry said, pulling on his shoulders, lying down and drawing Draco back to him. "That's enough of that for one night, don't you think?"

Draco nodded. He started tracing delicate circles on Harry's skin, over his chest, down to his bellybutton—which caused a delightful gasp—and then back up, almost hesitantly, to a nipple. Harry groaned quietly, nipple hardening under Draco's fingers. His nervousness rose along with his pleasure, but he figured Draco needed this, needed something to distract him from their conversation. Besides, he thought, nothing had ever felt this good before, and was pretty sure he couldn't form the words to stop it, even if he wanted to.

Then Draco's mouth replaced his hand, flicking and licking and nibbling, and Harry arched his back, moaning louder. He tangled his hands in Draco's hair, holding him in place, utterly unable to let him go. Draco hummed in the back of his throat, clearly pleased with Harry's unspoken demand. Then Harry dragged Draco's head over to his other nipple. Harry was incapable of even guessing at Draco's state of mind, to do anything other than surrender to the pleasure.

Eventually Draco pulled away, and Harry made a noise of complaint. "Why're you—"

"I told you being half naked was a good thing," Draco said smugly. As if their conversation had never happened.

"I promise I won't complain again," Harry breathed, still trying to catch his breath. Draco's hand slid lower, gently teasing the band of Harry's boxers. Harry's hips jumped up against his will, but he pulled his hand away. "No, not tonight. Not yet, not after what I just told you."

"I supposed you'd say that," Draco sighed. "Merlin, I don't know how I thought I could sleep next to you like this, not when…" His hand went back down to Harry's boxers, slid just slightly beneath for hardly more than a second, before settling back on his chest. "Shame, though. I've been told I'm quite skilled."

"I'm sure you are," Harry said, voice a little strangled. "Later."

Draco sighed again. "I always get what I want," he pouted. "I _loathe_ waiting."

"I suppose that's why you slept with Pansy and Blaise?" Harry asked lightly, though he was desperately interested in the answer. "Because they were there, and you don't like to wait?"

"I suppose," Draco said, considering. "And they're my friends, after all."

"Ron's my friend, and I've never shagged him," Harry said with a smile, thinking how ridiculous that would be.

"Yes, but he does look daft," Draco said. "My friends are devastatingly attractive." Harry swatted his arm lightly, and Draco let out an indignant noise. "Not as attractive as you, though. Nobody can compete with you."

Harry flushed. "You're talking out your ass, Malfoy."

"I am not," Draco said. "And while my ass is yours to do what you please with, I hardly think talking with it is the most entertaining choice."

Harry's flush darkened. "It's getting late," he said. "And I don't find the idea of meeting Professor Whisp while half asleep very wise."

Draco snuggled further into his arms. "That seems very prudent indeed," he replied.

"You'll have to get up," Harry said, "so we can get under the blankets.

Draco buried his face in Harry's chest. "I don't want to."

"Right, then I'll do it without you." Harry slid out from Draco's embrace and underneath the covers, finding the silk cool and refreshing. Draco moaned in protest but joined Harry, lying in the same position he had been in.

"You're evil, you know that?"

"Oh yes, covers are quite the devil," Harry replied as seriously as he could.

"Mm, indeed."

Harry kissed the top of his head. "G'night, Draco."

Draco kissed his chest, just shy of pressing his lips back against his nipple. "G'night, Harry."


	12. Chapter 12: 3 am interlude

**A/N:** Hi there! I'm running out the door, so this is gonna be a quick one.

Warnings: fluff. Lots of fluff. ALL of the fluff, in fact.

Also, chapters 14-16 are bloody brilliant, if I do say so myself. I can't wait for you to see them! As long as you don't mind things like sex and angst and fluff. I suspect chapter seventeen will be rather amusing, though I haven't written it yet, but we've got to have some comic relief somewhere, yeah? And who better to supply it than one Ron Weasley?

M'kay, done teasing, gotta run! Toodles!

**Chapter Twelve:**

_**3 a.m. interlude.**_

_Harry sat in a small, empty room, legs crossed, palms lying flat on his knees. Draco Malfoy sat opposite him in the same position, grey eyes sharper than ever, boring into Harry's mind._

"_What do you want?" Draco asked._

"_You," Harry said. He noticed Draco's wand was sitting just in front of him, in easy reach should he choose to curse Harry. Harry found himself to be wandless. He had no guard, no way of defending himself._

"_You've wanted me longer than this year," Draco stated._

_Harry found himself nodding. He had? What—when—?_

"_Since sixth year," Draco answered. "After you cursed me in the bathroom." His shirt vanished unimportantly, and the scars Harry had caused stood out harshly, looking as red and angry as the day they had been made. "All those feelings of regret, of fear, you never noticed they were tinged with something more."_

_Harry shook his head mutely._

"_Don't bother denying it," Draco said. "I am you subconscious, after all. Draco hasn't the slightest idea about any of this."_

_This was a dream, then? That explained some things, sort of. "What do you want?" Harry asked._

_Draco laughed, and Harry squirmed; there was something none too pleasant in that laugh. "You'll have to ask me once you're awake, I'm afraid."_

"_Why do you have your wand?" Harry tried._

_Draco reached down and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. "So I can curse you, if the desire strikes. Or do anything else my heart desires."_

_Harry felt his breathing speed up. He was completely at the mercy of Draco._

"_Do you trust me?" Draco asked._

_Harry didn't answer right away, didn't know. "Why don't _you_ tell me?" he said. "Since you seem to know so much about me."_

"_You want to," Draco replied. "But the sight of me with a wand while you sit before me helpless still horrifies you. What would you have me do to change that?"_

"_I—I don't—"_

_Draco slowly, gracefully, pointed his wand at Harry. "A curse for a curse, do you think?"_

"_What—"_

"Sectumsepra!_" Draco said almost casually._

_Harry watched as whip-like gashes appeared over his body, blood gushing freely. "It doesn't hurt," Harry said._

"_No?" Draco mused. "How interesting."_

_Harry sat in silence, watching as blood poured out of him. He was starting to get light-headed, the edges of his vision obscured behind a grey mist._

"_I think I might pass out," he said._

"_Alright," Draco replied._

_Harry slumped backwards, staring at the ceiling, barely able to see it through the haze of grey. He felt Draco take his hand, holding it gently._

"_You've died before," Draco said gently. "One more time won't hurt."_

"_Why…" Harry breathed lightly, barely able to summon the energy to speak._

"_Because I can," Draco replied gently, almost lovingly, and the room faded away._

Harry woke slowly, groggily. That was a new dream. He started to sit up, reaching for his glasses, when he was hit in the face, a blinding pain shooting out from his nose.

"Hey!" he yelled, voice garbled by blood, real blood, and muffled by his hands. "What the hell—"

Then he was dealt a quick kick to the shins, and he realized Draco was asleep, was thrashing against a dream of his own. Harry couldn't think clearly enough to form a course of action: his own dream was still floating through his mind, the ease at which Draco had killed him; the pain radiating from his nose, Harry realizing this was the second time Draco had broken it; and the disorientation of being on the other side, of being the one watching someone else having a nightmare.

"Draco," he said, shaking his shoulder, leaving a smear of blood from his nose in his wake. "Draco, wake up." He moaned darkly, thrashing out again, barely giving Harry time to get out of the way of his flailing arm. Harry took both his shoulders in his hands, never mind the bloody handprints he was leaving, or the blood still dripping from his nose onto Draco's bare chest. "Draco!" he yelled, giving him a rough shake. "Wake up!" Draco's eyes shot open. They were wide with panic, and Harry wasn't entirely sure he was awake yet.

"Let me go!" Draco yelled, jerking away from Harry. He had to double his efforts to hold him still, barely managing to fight the slipperiness of the blood. "Get off of me, let me go!"

"Draco, it's me, it's Harry," he said, trying to sound gentle while half yelling, trying to get through the haze of the dream.

"Put down your wand! Do it now!"

Harry let go, and Draco immediately drew his legs up to himself, scooting to the far edge of the bed. Harry held his hands up, bloody though they were. "I haven't got my wand," he said. "You were dreaming."

Harry saw something come into Draco's eyes, lessening the panic, calming him. "You…" He ran his hands through his hair. "Nightmare, right." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked at Harry. "What happened to you? I didn't curse you in my sleep, did I? That was only once, and Mother—"

"No," Harry interrupted. "No, you just hit me."

"Oh. Right." Draco looked down at himself. "Is this your blood?"

Harry nodded, sending small droplets of blood across the sheets. He reached up to hold his nose again, gently cradling it, trying to prevent blood from getting everywhere. "You broke my nose," he said.

"Sorry," Draco said vaguely, clearly still lost in his nightmare.

"Do—do you want to talk about it?" Harry asked, echoing Draco's question. "Your nightmare?" His nose was getting more and more painful, but he pushed the feelings aside.

"I…you were going to—" He cut himself off. "No, I don't." Draco shook himself. "D'you want me to fix your nose, then?"

"Er, sure," Harry replied, lowering his hands. Draco picked his wand up from the bedside table, and pointed it at Harry. His heart suddenly sped up, pounding in his chest, as he remembered his dream. "Draco, wait—"

"_Episkey_," Draco said, and Harry felt the snap of his nose realigning itself, unable to stop the gasp of pain. "What was that 'wait' about?" he asked suspiciously. "You didn't think I was going to curse you, did you?"

"Er—no, course not," Harry said, feeling his nose, making sure everything was in place.

Draco eyed him carefully. "I was not the only one having nightmares tonight, was I?"

The ease at which Draco read him was unnerving. "Uh, yeah, no, you weren't," Harry stumbled out. "But I'm fine, really. It wasn't anything important."

"Right," Draco said, still suspicious. He glanced down at himself, at the bed sheets, at Harry. "You've made a mess everywhere," he said disdainfully.

Harry gaped at him. "You _broke _my _nose_!" he said indignantly.

"I was _asleep_, Potter," Draco snapped back. He got out of bed and headed towards a small door Harry hadn't noticed the night before. "Come on, Potter, hurry up."

Harry jumped out of bed and followed him into a small but elegant bathroom. Draco took a hand towel and wet it, dabbing at the blood on his chest, entirely missing his shoulders.

"Here, let me," Harry said, taking the cloth from him. He re-wet it, making sure the water was warm, and gently ran it over his skin, cleaning up all traces of blood.

"Mmm," Draco sighed. "I like having you clean me."

Harry flushed immediately, another flash of his dream flying through his head. How long had he fancied Draco, exactly? Surely it couldn't have been as far back as sixth year. "Think I've got it all," he said, a little gruffly, and Draco took the washcloth, wringing out the blood and running it under the water again.

"You've made a right mess of yourself," he said, rubbing at Harry's face.

"You broke my nose," Harry repeated, feeling this was a rather important point, seeing as how he was continually getting blamed for making a mess.

"I didn't _mean _to," Draco said crossly. "If I meant to hurt you, you'd be sporting far more than a broken nose—that I _fixed_, which you have yet to thank me for."

Harry was about to when Draco moved down to his chest, delicately scrubbing away all traces of blood. Harry felt rather light headed, the roughness of the cloth combined with the gentleness of Draco's movements. His eyes had slipped shut, and he heard the wet smack of the cloth falling into the sink. Draco's fingers replaced the clothing, skimming lightly over his chest, causing his breathing to speed up, and the need to rest a hand on the edge of the sink to steady himself.

"You wouldn't ever curse me, would you?" Draco asked quietly, almost whispering.

Harry forced his eyes open, taking Draco's face in his hands, marveling at how soft his skin was. "Never," he said definitively. He added, feeling rather foolish, "And you wouldn't kill me, right?"

Draco smiled, a glint in his eye. "I wouldn't imagine so, no." He leaned down and brushed Harry's lips lightly. "No, I think we've moved beyond that."

"Alright, then," Harry said. "Now let's get back into bed then. It's bloody freezing."

"I had to leave the window open for Capry," Draco said defensively, leading them out of the bathroom. "And the fireplace went out."

"Yeah, freezing," Harry repeated, climbing under the covers, noting that the drops of blood were gone, and the top blanket had been replaced with a thick comforter.

Draco joined him, smiling wickedly. "Cuddling's better when it's cold, don't you think?" he purred, pressing himself against Harry, earning a light gasp.

"Suppose so," Harry mumbled, wrapping an arm around Draco, firmly anchoring him in place. He was just so _smooth_, Harry couldn't get used to it. He ran his hand over Draco's back, feeling almost guilty about how rough his hand was. Draco didn't seem to mind; he pushed closer to Harry, a hand on his hip, gripping tightly.

"Your hand feels incredible," Draco breathed, and Harry flushed, having an idea that Draco was imagining it in other places. Harry stilled his hand, resting it on the small of Draco's back. Draco whimpered. "Don't stop."

"It's late," Harry said, a little uncomfortably.

"You're just afraid of touching a boy," Draco teased.

"I am not," Harry bristled, though he was. It was more of a fear of touching anyone, and of letting Draco know just how inexperienced he was.

"Just follow my lead," Draco said, fingers suddenly everywhere, skimming over Harry's side, over his back, dipping down once again to tease at the waistband of his boxers before sliding back up to find some new spot Harry hadn't known was sensitive. If he had the presence of mind, Harry would have been embarrassed at his body's reaction, at every shiver than ran through him, the gasps drawn from his mouth, the way his entire body was shaking ever so slightly. Draco settled his hand at the back of Harry's neck, teasing the short hairs that grew there, tracing patterns over the skin.

"Draco…" Harry whispered, letting out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding in.

He felt Draco shiver. "Ohh, I like that," Draco breathed, eyes at half-mast, filled with desire.

The clock on the mantle chimed quietly, announcing the hour—four.

Harry wrapped his hand firmly around Draco's wrist and settled so their hands, which had already wrapped around each other's, were safely between their bodies, so they didn't stray anywhere they oughtn't.

"Sleep," Harry said steadfastly.

Draco whined, the sound coming from the back of his throat, and it was all Harry could do to stay still. "Harry…"

Harry felt every muscle in his body tense; no one had said his name like that before, no one. "Sleep," Harry repeated, trying to sound authoritative. "It'll be the weekend soon enough, and then we can…" He trailed off. Maybe having the restriction of needing to get up for classes was a good thing; it gave him an excuse to stop Draco from doing something that he'd…what, regret? That sounded unlikely. From moving too fast? That had been thrown out the window the moment they had slid into bed together.

Draco grinned wickedly. "Yes, we can." He captured Harry's lips in a sweet, lingering kiss Harry would have been happy to let go on forever. "Good night, I suppose."

Harry had to bite back the words that threatened to tumble from his lips, sure that he would say something he didn't mean to. He kissed Draco's forehead, then his cheekbone, the tip of his nose, the edge of his jaw. Draco sighed contentedly, and Harry forced himself to pull away. This was not sleeping.

"Don't stop," Draco said again. "I don't care how exhausted I am tomorrow, don't stop."

"I care," Harry lied. "I'm going to sleep now."

Draco rolled over, spooning himself in Harry's arms, pushing back as far as he could, wriggling in excruciatingly pleasurable, entirely unhelpful ways. Harry grabbed his hips, holding them in place. "Draco…" he warned.

Draco sighed again. "I love it when you're all bossy and commanding."

"I'm not either of those things!" Harry protested. "I'm trying to sleep!"

"I don't sleep," Draco replied petulantly. "What do you expect me to do? Lie here until His Majesty chooses to grace me with an open eye?"

Harry lightly nipped at his shoulder, and Draco squirmed. "If necessary, yes," he said. He let go of Draco's hip and found his hand, twining their fingers together. "Now good night."

Draco grumbled something under his breath. "Fine. G'night."


	13. Chapter 13: The irrefutable pull of

**A/N:** I had such a long list of things I wanted to tell you, but of course they've all flown out of my head. I suppose the most obvious is—bloody hell!—we've almost reached one hundred reviews! You guys are brilliant, I love you to pieces.

No particular warnings for this chapter; it's a chapter, you'll see for yourself. But chapter seventeen, which I wrote last night, is just filled to the brim with fluff and angst and sexy times and all those things you love. Also, I don't know if you've noticed or not, but Hagrid has been mysteriously absent (largely due to a mistake on my end, whoops), but he'll finally make an appearance in chapter eighteen, not to worry, I've got it all planned out. And all of the hints and hidings and mysteriousness of next weekend? Chapter nineteen, I'm almost positive. It'll be quite the doozy, I imagine.

Also, I can't bloody wait for Christmas! Story-Christmas that is, not real-world-Christmas (though that is terribly exciting as well). Trust me, you guys should be just as excited as I am—it's going to be BRILLIANT. Even more brilliant than that other thing I've got planned for mid-October, just you wait and see.

**Chapter Thirteen:**

_**The irrefutable pull of Goderic Gryffindor.**_

Harry quickly discovered Draco was not a morning person.

He should have known already, given their other mornings together, but when lying in a bed so reminiscent of his own he was absolutely impossible. Harry was completely dressed and ready to go before he'd even gotten Draco to acknowledge they had class in ten minutes, and the resulting sprint to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom ended in the same reaction they had gotten in potions—arriving, nearly late, looking like hell. Harry settled in behind Ron and Hermione, and was extremely pleased when Draco slid in next to him.

"Harry, breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Hermione said, turning around to face him. "You'll not forsake it all year just so you can get a little more…more whatever you two are doing."

"You mean blasting holes in my curtains?" Draco asked snidely. "Because that's all Harry seemed to be capable of this morning."

Harry glared at him. "You wouldn't bloody get out of bed!"

"And those were my _curtains_. Curtains, Harry. Not that I'd expect you to understand the subtelties of—"

"Silence!" Professor Whisp's voice cut through all conversation; her performance the other day had granted her the same level of fear and respect previously reserved for McGonagall alone. "Good. No, don't take out your books, you can put them away. It has come to my attention that not all of you have mastered the Patronus Charm, so we'll be working on that until you've all got it." She started mumbling under her breath about how it was just ridiculous that seventh and even _eighth_ years who had been _living _with Dementors hadn't managed it.

Harry leaned back in his chair, letting his mind wander. Thanks to Lupin, he'd had a perfect Patronus since third year, and was prepared to daydream through the rest of class.

"Potter!"

Harry jerked, nearly knocking his chair backwards, causing a smattering of laughter. "Yes, Professor?" he said, a little guiltily.

"Since you're so confident, why don't you come up and demonstrate?" she said.

Harry sighed inwardly and stood up, moving to the front of the classroom. He closed his eyes, focusing on the memory of his parents in the Mirror of Erised. He raised his wand, about to cast the spell, when the image vanished, replaced with Voldemort's leering face, with his laughter when he thought Harry dead. Harry tightened his grip on his wand and closed his eyes tighter, pulling the image of his parents back. Smiling, waving, looking at him with all the love in the world. Again, he opened his mouth, but then the image of Bellatrix appeared, laughing maniacally, and how Dobby had looked with her knife sticking out of his chest.

"Not so easy, is it, Potter?" Harry opened his eyes, stunned. He hadn't had trouble with a Patronus in ages. "You can sit," Whisp said, gesturing at his table. Harry wished for invisibility as he walked back, though at least no one was laughing at him. It was well known that he had full control over his Patronus, and the class was practically on the edge of their seats waiting for the explanation.

"As you all know," Whisp said, "a Patronus is conjured by drawing on one's strongest, happiest memories. When a witch or wizard has been through what Potter here has, no matter how many good memories he has, they can easily get crowded out with thoughts of other things." She eyed Harry shrewdly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," she added pointedly. "Not a single witch or wizard hasn't had trouble conjuring a Patronus at one time or another. Now, before you go off to practice, I'm going to give you five minutes on the clock to sit and think of a good memory. And," she added dangerously, "I'll know if you're daydreaming, or passing notes; a Patronus was never summoned by something as insignificant as gossip, _Miss Patil_." Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Parvati and Lavender blushing furiously. "The clock starts now."

Harry stared blankly forward, humiliation flooding him. He found himself wishing for chocolate, wishing for the wizard who had first taught him about its restorative properties, who had first taught him the Patronus charm. But Lupin, like so many others, was dead now, and it felt like an insult to his name to no longer be able to perform the charm with such ease.

_This isn't helping_, Harry thought angrily. _I'm supposed to be thinking of happy memories, not of everyone who got killed because of me_.

_Maybe if you used that to your advantage…_ a voice in the back of his head suggested.

Yes, that might actually work. Harry pictured the final battle with Voldemort, the shriek as the Elder Wand flew into Harry's hands, how small and shrunken Tom Riddle had looked lying on the ground in front of him. Surely that—that must be enough for a Patronus. But Harry was filled with doubt, still overcome with humiliation, and he knew he could never cast the charm properly unless he was completely at ease.

"Alright, time," Professor Whisp said, breaking into his thoughts. "Potter, care to try again, or would you rather pass the torch?"

Harry was equally surprised and grateful at her offer, and his respect for her grew immeasurably. "Er, no, I'll give it a go," he said, walking back up to the front of the room. If she had merely demanded it from him, he would have rebuked, made an excuse, but somehow having an out was enough to render it unnecessary.

"Very good," Whisp said, stepping aside, giving Harry the center of the room.

He closed his eyes again and brought forth the image of defeating Voldemort. "_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry called out, opening his eyes to see nothing but a wisp of smoke emerge from the tip of his wand. He flushed, furious with himself.

"Come on, Potter, you can do it," Whisp said. "Focus."

The beaten, broken body of Riddle lying on the floors, the cheers from all sides, his friends rushing over to him. "_Expecto Patronum!_" he yelled, but still, got only the vaguest of shapes.

"_Focus_, Potter!"

"I am bloody focusing!" Harry burst out.

You could have heard a pin drop.

"Perhaps you've had enough for today," Whisp said quietly. "Please return—"

"No!" Harry yelled. "Give me another chance!"

There was a pause, then, "Alright, go ahead."

Harry had carefully kept his eyes away from the students in front of him, but he took a moment to glance at his friends: at Ron, who had his fists balled in anticipation; at Hermione, looking worried, as always; and at Draco, whose expression nearly stopped Harry in his tracks.

_You're being ridiculous_, it said. _Stop your whining and do the damned spell_.

Harry raised his wand for the third time, feeling himself fill with a calm confidence. He could do this. An image from last night filled his mind, of Draco slowly and carefully wiping the blood off his chest. It was the first time he had truly felt taken care of, felt loved since Sirius had died—not in a mirror, or from ghostly figures, but from a real live, solid person. He smiled as his arm began to tingle.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_" he bellowed. The stag burst forth, fully formed, and galloped around the room. The class burst into applause, and Harry smiled triumphantly.

"Very good, Potter. Now take your seat, and don't argue with me again," Whisp said, stepping forward.

Harry couldn't stop grinning. Finally getting the charm right seemed to dispel every negative thought he'd had over the past few months, every lingering doubt and fear left from the war. And as for his nightmare about joining Voldemort, well, that was just ridiculous, wasn't it? There was no way he would have been able to conjure such a strong Patronus if he was meant to be evil.

His stag came over to him, bowed its head slightly, and vanished.

Ron and Hermione both leaned back to congratulate him, Neville patted his shoulder, and Draco quietly slipped his hand into Harry's, a small smile on his face.

"Now, practice. Potter, you too; if you can lose your happy thoughts here in class, imagine how easy it'll be when you need to cast one for real."

By the end of class, Harry felt even more brilliant, if possible. Every time he had tried to conjure his Patronus it had come without a single lingering thought of Voldemort or Bellatrix or anything other than his happy thoughts. Partway through the class Whisp had pulled him aside and had him go around, helping those who needed it, reminding Harry so strongly of Dumbledore's Army he almost expected Filch and the Inquisitorial Squad to come bursting in, but of course they didn't.

Harry practically skipped to Charms, Ron, Hermione and Neville following behind him. He flew through the class, un-and-retying ties as if he had been doing it his whole life, even managing to get Flitwick's halfway off his neck before he got caught.

"Honestly, Harry, what's gotten into you?" Hermione asked as they walked to lunch.

"Whisp is brilliant," Harry said. "Merlin's beard, if I had known how restorative a good Patronus charm was, I would've spent my entire summer casting them.

The flow of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs joined up with Slytherins and Ravenclaws as they approached the Great Hall, and Harry kept an eye out for Draco as Neville said,

"You sure that has nothing to do with yet another night not spent in our dorm?"

"Again, Harry?" Ron asked. "Blimey, you must be getting it on more than me and 'Mione." Hermione stepped on his foot rather harshly, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Come off it, Ron," he said, then finally spotted Draco. "Hey, Draco, over here!" Draco raised an eyebrow, but gracefully slid through the crowd until he was standing next to Harry. "You're brilliant," Harry said happily, quickly kissing his cheek and holding his hand, causing Draco to flush.

"I know," he said, sounding annoyed and haughty at the same time. "What'd I do this time?"

"Oh, nothing," Harry said lightly. "Sit with us at the Gryffindor table, would you?"

Draco's eyes bugged out. "N-no, I most certainly will not."

"Oh, come off it," Harry said. "Aurora sat with us yesterday, and she's a Hufflepuff."

"_Hufflepuffs_ are not _Slytherins_, Harry," Draco sneered. They were now standing outside the Great Hall, still holding hands, ignoring the looks of the students streaming past them.

"Yeah, but, look," Harry said, gesturing at his friends. "There's Ron, Hermione and Neville from Gryffindor, Aurora from Hufflepuff—from America, no less—and Luna, who's a Ravenclaw. You'll hardly stand out at all."

"You bloody well know that's not true," Draco said through clenched teeth. "I will not—"

"Yes, you will," Harry said insistently. "Come on."

Harry had to physically drag Draco over to the table, and shove him down into a seat. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione must've kicked him, because he closed it before anything came out. Neville was the first to manage to talk.

"Uh, Rory, this is Malfoy—er, Draco?" he stammered, looking at Harry for clarification.

"Yeah, Draco," Harry confirmed, helping himself to a large plate of something he didn't recognize, but smelled delicious.

"I'm Aurora," she said, holding out her hand.

Draco looked at it as if it was something that had crawled out of the Forbidden Forrest. Harry nudged him, and Draco took her hand by the fingertips, shaking gingerly. "Charmed," he said stiffly. He attempted to stay silent throughout the rest of the meal, but everyone, Harry especially, was in good cheer, talking about how their first week back was, how happy they were that it was finally Friday, and wondering when Quidditch was going to start up again. Harry saw Draco get dragged into conversation at least twice, and the lack of hexing, or even threats of hexing, put him in even better spirits.

Just before it was time to leave for afternoon classes, McGonagall appeared behind Harry, nearly startling him into spilling his pumpkin juice.

"Potter, may I have a word with you?"

Harry felt all eyes on him and shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of what he'd done wrong. "Er, yes, Professor," he said, letting himself be led out of the Great Hall.

"Potter, as I'm sure you know, Quidditch season starts early here," she said. "And, should you like it, the positions of Captain and Seeker are yours."

Harry blinked at her in surprise. In all honesty, he had hardly thought about Quidditch at all, outside of his skirmishes with Draco, and he wasn't sure how he felt about rejoining the team. He loved Quidditch, of course, but when he thought of all the time it took up, the early morning training sessions, playing through hurricanes and blizzards…Not to mention the extra responsibility. Harry was still getting used to not having the outcome of the entire wizarding world resting on his shoulders, and he wasn't keen on being in charge of something again, even just the Quidditch team. But…but he loved Quidditch. He couldn't just abandon his team, could he?

"You don't have to take them, of course," McGonagall said, sounding like perhaps she understood what Harry was thinking. "There's a particularly fine sixth year from Australia who'd make a fine Captain. Adelaide Isaacs; I'm sure you two have met?"

"Er, no, but I've been busy with, uh—"

"No need to explain, Potter. Shall I tell her the position is hers?"

"I—"

The Great Hall doors burst open, and students began streaming out. Harry and McGonagall stepped closer to the wall; Harry found it almost impossible to think with all the noise and movement suddenly encasing him.

"Practice starts at dawn tomorrow, Potter. I need an answer."

"No," he blurted out. "I don't want it. Give it to her."

"I'm sure she could always use a few pointers if you find yourself missing the thrill of Captaining," McGonagall said. She rested a hand on Harry's shoulder so briefly he thought he had imagined it before she disappeared into the crowd.

"What was that about?" Ron asked, breaking out of the throng of students, Hermione at his side.

"She wanted to know if I wanted to captain the Quidditch team," Harry said. "And be Seeker."

"I should think not!" Hermione said. "Not when you've got your N.E.W.T.s! The whole Ministry is watching you, Harry. You hardly have time for things like Quidditch."

Harry relaxed a little at Hermione's reasoning; whether or not it had been his own, it made sense.

"Come on," she said brusquely. "We've got History of Magic, and then—"

"Then nothing," Harry interrupted. "You might be trying to force ten years of classes into your schedule, but some of us aren't crazy."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, clearly offended, but Ron cut in. "He does have a point, 'Mione. You're taking, what, fifteen classes? All without a Time-Turner?"

Hermione glared at him. "You know full well I'm only taking twelve." She flushed a little. "McGonagall wouldn't let me register for more."

"Harry and I have only got seven," Ron said.

"Because you're—" Hermione cut herself off, visibly reeling in her tirade. "Let's just get to the class you _are_ taking on time, alright?"

Harry, pleased to be sitting next to Hermione again, dozed his way through most of the class, occasionally jotting down a line or two from her notes before she noticed what he was doing and charmed her parchment so Harry couldn't see it. Nevertheless, the pull of Friday afternoon was too strong for Harry to focus, and he knew he could just nick the notes off Ron later on. The class dragged on longer than usual, and by the time they were finally set free, Harry knew his destination—the Owlery. If he wasn't going to be on the team this year, he'd bloody well play Draco as often as he could. Ron and Hermione followed him, returning to their couple-bubble, and it wasn't until Harry was halfway through his note to Draco that Ron asked what they were doing in the Owlery.

"Writing a note, what's it look like?" Harry asked, only slightly miffed.

"To who?"

"Ron, isn't it obvious? Harry's upset that he's not on the Quidditch team this year, so he's going to have a game with Draco." She turned to face him. "Am I right, Harry?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said, tying the note to Capry's leg and sending the owl out the window. "Bloody hell you're observant."

Hermione smiled, a little smugly. "If I didn't know you this well by now, I'd hardly be a good friend, now would I?"

Part of Harry's dream flicked back, the part about how long he had been attracted to Draco, and it suddenly occurred to him that he might ask Hermione about it, if she had ever seen signs of anything other than hatred. But not here, not in front of Ron.

Capry flew back almost immediately.

_I'm on the front steps. Hurry up._

Harry grinned. "Gotta go. See you later." He hurried through the castle and out to the front steps, where he met Draco. The wind was back, blowing his hair gently around his head, and there was a slight crispness in the air, just barely making Harry wish he had thought to get his robes out of the Room of Requirement.

"Hello there, gorgeous," Harry said, smiling at Draco's slight flush. "How'd…um, what did you have again?"

"Arithmancy," he replied, starting the walk over to the Quidditch field. "I rather hate it, actually; it's the one class here that doesn't come naturally to me, but Father makes me take it anyway." He sighed dramatically. "So what did McGonagall want with you?"

"Oh, er, she was just asking if I wanted to be on the Quidditch team," Harry said, still nervous and defensive about his answer. "I told her no. It's complicated."

"I thought I sensed your tiny little brain attempting to process something," Draco said, tapping him lightly on the head.

"Don't be daft," Harry snapped. "I've been on the team every year I've been at Hogwarts. It wasn't an easy decision."

"At least you were asked," Draco replied. "Slytherin's held try-outs Wednesday, and they didn't even bother to tell me. As I understand it, some bloke from Germany's the new Seeker."

Harry thought Draco might resent him, for turning down a choice he didn't even have. "At least we've got each other," Harry said helpfully. "To play against, I mean."

Draco raised an eyebrow, a smile dancing in his eyes. "Yes, that we do. And I have to say, I've been waiting all day to discuss stakes with you."

Harry flushed, and cursed himself. Draco hadn't even said anything yet, and he was already blushing. "Oh?" he asked, keeping his tone light. "What did you have in mind?"

"It might be easier to list the things I _didn't_ have in mind," Draco said rather salaciously. "But seeing as how I set the bet yesterday, I suppose it's your turn."

They arrived at the field, and a sudden gust of wind blew, causing Harry to shiver. "We could start off with the assumption that you lose, and you could go fetch my robes," Harry said.

Draco laughed. "Hardly. But there's a spare set in the Slytherin room; I'll go get them for you." He disappeared into the changing room before Harry could say anything about how he'd never be caught dead in Slytherin robes. He took the opportunity to grab his broom, and by the time Draco returned, fully outfitted, Harry was shaking slightly, another gust of wind cutting through his jumper. "Just take it," Draco said commandingly. "And watch that mouth of yours; I won't hear one word against my house."

Harry grabbed the robe out of Draco's hand and yanked it on, feeling absolutely appalled. What if Ron or Hermione came to see how the game was going? Or, even worse, someone he didn't know? If rumors got out that _Harry Potter _was seen wearing Slytherin colors, he'd never live it down.

"Stakes?" Draco prodded.

"I'm thinking," Harry snapped.

"I can't understand how it's so _hard _for you to think of something you'd want from me," Draco drawled, the emphasis clear.

"Some of us don't think about sex every minute of every day," Harry shot back. "There are other things couples do, y'know."

"Right, like going swimming in the Black Lake," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Just think of something, Potter. I'm bored of waiting."

Draco really could be infuriating when he wanted to be. "Loser has to tell their nightmare to the winner," Harry said.

Draco paled slightly. "I—no."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "No? Since when are you allowed to say _no_?"

"Since now," Draco snapped. "You're bloody useless at this. Loser has to wear the other's house colors all weekend."

Harry's jaw dropped. "No! Absolutely not!"

Draco smirked. "Oh, come on, Potter. You don't think it'd be sexy to see me strutting around in Gryffindor red and gold? It'd almost be like you_ own_ me."

Harry's mouth went dry. That did sound rather…appealing. But the thought of being made to wear green and silver—wearing this bloody cloak was bad enough—was so utterly humiliating he could hardly imagine it, never mind if the _Prophet_ got ahold of a picture of him in a Slytherin tie, which he was sure would be inevitable.

"It's settled, then." Draco released the snitch in the air, watching as it disappeared. "Ready?"

Harry took off without bothering to answer, determined to win. There was no chance in hell he'd be seen wearing anything other than his house colors, Draco should have known that. If he had wanted a fair fight, he shouldn't have given Harry such incentive to win.

"Also," Harry called out as Draco flew past him, "I want control of the Room tonight. When I win."

"Anything you say, Potter!" Draco called out over his shoulder.

The game was quick and dirty. There was a lot of shoving, cursing and threatening hexes before Harry finally caught the snitch, barely managing to grab it as Draco tried to physically yank his arm away.

"That wasn't fair!" Harry panted, even though the snitch was firmly grasped in his hand.

"I never play fair," Draco spat, and Harry thought the reality of the bet was crashing around him. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"That you'll be the laughing stock of the school?" Harry asked, a little joyfully.

"That I won't be leaving the Room of Requirement all weekend, and you're now my errand boy," Draco responded with a smirk. "I'll have you running around the castle at all hours of the night to fetch me whatever I desire."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure that'll how this is going to play out," Harry said. "If you want to eat, you'll have to come down to the Great Hall yourself. And don't forget our date." Harry grinned wickedly. "Can't wait to see you in Gryffindor colored swim trunks."

Draco glared at him furiously. "In your dreams, Potter."

"Yes, I expect it will be."

Draco flushed slightly, used to be on the doling out end of innuendo, not receiving. Harry thought the slight pinkness suited him very well.

"It's bloody freezing out here," Draco said eventually. "C'mon, let's get inside."

"I expect Ron and Hermione—well, Hermione mostly—will want me to study with them," Harry said. "Shall we meet for dinner, or would you care to accompany me to Gryffindor Tower? We can get you outfitted and everything."

Draco made a horrible face. "I would rather face a charging Erumpent during mating season than go inside Gryffindor Tower," he said. "I'll see you at dinner. During which you will sit with me at the Slytherin table."

Harry shrugged. "If you say so. It'll only be more obvious to your housemates that you're wearing my colors."

Draco opened his mouth, then shut it. "Dinner in the kitchens," he snapped. "For the rest of the weekend. Where you will keep those bloody elves at bay. I can order them about, but I'll not take on an entire castle's worth at once."

Harry smiled. "Right, then. Outside the kitchens at six."


	14. Chapter 14: I wouldn't say that if

**A/N: **Okay, a couple things. First off, I need to point out, given that this is a fanfiction site after all, that **I wrote the sonnet**. I won't tell you any more than that, I don't want to spoil the fun, but the sonnet is, in fact, original work. There is no such person as Nicholas Skyes, only me.

Also, no yelling about Harry being a prude. He's just trying to be responsible. And not to worry; like I've said, sexy times come next chapter, also known as tomorrow. There's a teeeeeny chance I won't be able to publish something because it's my dad's 60th birthday and I think we're doing something special, but I'm sure I can squeeze in a minute or two to get it up (hehe, get it up).

Also, because I can't help teasing you guys, chapter twenty is bloody hilarious. Yesterday I found myself sitting around thinking of names of wizard sex books. Clearly this is a sign I've gone completely bonkers. But it's also a bit fluffy, and has its fair share of angst, but mostly just silliness.

And, for those of you waiting on the edge of your seats, Draco's big weekend secret will be revealed in chapter twenty-one. I know I promised nineteen, and then twenty, but like I keep telling you, this story has a mind of its own, and it got away from me yet again. This time, though, I swear, chapter twenty-one. Mark my words.

**Chapter Fourteen:**

_**I wouldn't say that if I were you.**_

Harry ran into Neville in the common room, for which he was eternally grateful. He kept forgetting he had urgent business with him, and if he waited too much longer, his plans would be ruined.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said, sliding into the seat opposite him. "Have I ever told you how brilliant you are?"

Neville narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Harry?"

"Want? Why would I—"

"Just spit it out. I've got to meet Rory at nine-thirteen exactly to stir our potion."

"You wouldn't happen to be able to get your hands on any gillyweed, would you?" Harry asked. "By, say, tomorrow night?

"You could've given me more warning," Neville huffed. "But yeah, I suppose I can. What do you need it for?"

"Better not to ask," Harry said, standing up. "Thanks, mate. You're a lifesaver."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Sure, Harry. Whatever."

Harry walked over to Heidelberg's portrait and raised his hand to knock when the shepherd yelled, "Wait! Don't do that."

"I have a study session scheduled," Harry said. "They're not going to be shagging, not when they've got essays to write."

Heidelberg rolled his eyes. "I _know_ that. They act like I'm not even here; I know everything that goes on in that room. But did it ever occur to you that there's a better way to get in than slamming your dirty fist against my face?"

"Er, no?" Harry said.

"There's a portrait of a pasture in their room," he explained, as if to a small child. I can just go up there and announce your presence."

"Oh, thanks," Harry said. "That's rather brilliant."

Heidelberg puffed out with the compliment. "I'll be right back, then," he said, and disappeared out the side of the portrait. Harry waited patiently, and a minute later he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed, books and parchment spread around him in a mess that Hermione kept eyeing as if it was going to jump up and attack her.

"I swear, Muggle Studies is the daftest class," Ron muttered angrily.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped. "Imagine if your father heard you say that!"

"Well he's not here, Hermione, now is he?" Ron snapped back.

Harry sighed, figuring he ought to intervene. "What do you need help with?"

"It's this bloody parliament business," Ron said. "Something about Tories?"

Harry spent the next hour lecturing Ron on the intricacies of parliament, which Hermione was eager to point out wouldn't have been necessary if Ron had paid attention to class in the first place. Eventually Harry was allowed to go back to his own essay, and they studied in silence before Ron finally burst out,

"So you're dating Malfoy then, are you?"

Harry flushed, keeping his eyes on his parchment. "Er, yeah, suppose so."

There was a moment of silence; the scratching of quills and the ruffling of pages had stopped, each of the three wondering if there was going to be another fight.

"What on earth do you see in him?"

"He's…he's not what you think," Harry said uncomfortably, thinking of the conversation the night before. "A lot of what he did was forced on him."

"I'm more concerned about the years he spent torturing you than the war," Ron said. "We all did things we didn't want to then."

"Yes, well…" Harry trailed off. He had a strong suspicion Draco's hatred of him stemmed out of a secret infatuation, but Draco hadn't actually said that and even if he had, Harry was fairly certain he shouldn't share that information. "It's complicated," he settled on. "You could always talk to him yourself, you know."

"Oh, yes, that'll end well," Ron replied.

"Harry has a point," Hermione said quietly. "It might not be a bad idea for the four of us to sit down and have a talk."

Harry and Ron both gave her a disgusted look. "You think too much, Hermione," Harry said. "That's your problem."

"And yours is that you don't think enough," Hermione snapped back.

"Just no more secrets, okay?" Ron interrupted. "I mean, don't tell us, y'know, _everything_," he stammered, blushing. "But, y'know, the big things. Like where you've been the past couple nights."

"In the Room of Requirement," Harry said, turning his eyes back to his paper. "Talking and stuff. Mostly sleeping."

"Sleeping, eh?"

Harry blushed. "Yeah, Ron. Sleeping." He paused, debating how honest to be. "And, er, snogging, a bit."

"He's a good kisser, then, I suppose?"

This whole conversation seemed so surreal, to be talking with Ron about Draco's kissing abilities. He almost thought someone slipped something into his pumpkin juice at lunch. "Yeah, I guess," Harry muttered.

"Better than Ginny?"

_Oh, Merlin_, Harry thought, wishing with all his might he could disapparate. "I—"

"Ron, don't make him answer that," Hermione said firmly. "Merlin's beard, how would you feel if Harry asked you to compare my kissing to Lavender's?"

"Oh, that's easy," Ron said. "Lavender was all slobbery, it was actually kind of gross, like snogging a dog. You're much better than that."

"I'm better then a gross, slobbery dog," Hermione said coolly. "Thanks, Ron. That's quite a compliment."

This time Harry had no desire to interrupt their argument, to turn the topic back to him and Draco. He bent over his paper, laboriously scratching out the electoral process. Eventually he glanced up at the clock—five-thirty, and he had still given no thought as how to get Draco into Gryffindor colors.

"Hey, 'Mione?" he asked. "How do you transfigure the color of someone's robes?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you'll have to tell me why you need this information before I give it to you."

"Just ties and stuff," Harry said, sidestepping her demand. "Ties and, like, the bits of color around the collar and cuffs."

"Again, Harry, why?"

Against his better judgment, Harry launched into how he and Draco had been playing Quidditch for stakes, and how he was now bound to wear Gryffindor colors all weekend. By the time he finished talking Ron was howling with laughter, while Hermione was frowning.

"Harry, I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"Course it is!" Ron said, still laughing. "It's bloody brilliant! Imagine the look on his dad's face if he ever saw his precious Slytherin son dressed as a Gryffindor!"

"From what I've gathered, Draco's been having a hard enough time with the Slytherins as it is," Hermione said. "I hardly think parading him around as a Gryffindor is going to mend any fences."

"Merlin, Hermione, how do you know everything?" Harry said, exasperated. "He's fine. He'd have told me if there was a real problem. Besides, we'll probably spend all weekend in the Room of Requirement." He realized too late how that sounded, and started backtracking furiously.

"Alright," Hermione said unsurely. "If you really want to know, I'll teach you. Ron, come here, would you?"

Ron's laughter stopped. "Why do I have to be the guinea pig?" he asked. "It's Harry's idea, he should ruin his own robes."

"Nobody's robes are going to be ruined," Hermione said patiently. "Harry, come here. You've just got to focus on the color you want, and say _Culario moltari_!" Ron's shirt immediately turned a bright pink, causing Ron to attempt the spell himself to reverse it, but all that happened was a dark purple splotch appeared, making it look as though he had spilled ink down himself. "Harry, you try. And Ron, stop stabbing at it. I'll fix it later."

Somewhat dubiously, Harry performed the charm, and was pleased to see he had mastered it the first try. "That wasn't so bad," he said, Ron crossing his arms protectively over his now black shirt.

"But you told me you need to do small lines, not big areas. Come on, have a go at my sleeve," she said, offering her arm out. Harry's first attempt resulted in turning the entire sleeve green, but by five of, he had gotten the hang of it. They walked down to the Great Hall together before Harry split off to go downstairs.

"Thanks, for all the help, 'Mione," he said. "I'll see you two later, yeah?"

"You're not coming to dinner?" Hermione asked, clearly readying a lecture.

"Draco and I are eating in the kitchens," he said. "He needs some time to get used to his new colors."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Be nice to him, would you?"

"Blimey, never thought I'd hear you say that," Ron said.

Harry walked away before he could get sucked into the conversation and found Draco waiting nervously for him in front of the door to the kitchens.

"Harry, I really don't think—"

"Shut up, and hold still. I only just learned how to do this," Harry interrupted, pointing his wand first at Draco's tie, which obediently turned Gryffindor colors. Draco flinched. Harry did his collar, then said, "Hold out your arms, it'll all be over in a second." Very stiffly, Draco lifted his arms, and was soon Gryffindor from head to toe. Harry stepped back to admire his handiwork. "Very nice," he said. "Oh, and one more thing…" He pointed his wand lower, and uttered the spell.

Draco turned bright pink. "Did—did you turn my _boxers_ red and gold?"

Harry grinned wickedly. "I may have. Come on, I'm starving." Harry pushed open the door and Draco followed hesitantly. They sat at the table by the fireplace, food quickly appearing in front of them.

"See?" Harry said. "It's not so bad."

Draco glared at him. "I hate you, you bloody Scarheaded prat."

"You forget I have the ultimate trump card in name calling," Harry said lightly.

"Daft idiot half-blooded mongrel who spends all his time with the scum of the school," Draco snapped.

"Watch yourself," Harry said conversationally. "You know I can win this game with a single word."

Draco burst into a string of muggle swears, startling Harry with his familiarity of anything muggle. "Fucking blowhard son of a whore who couldn't magic his way out of a paper bag, even if there were neon signs pointing the way."

"Ferret," Harry said, rather kindly. "You're just a little bouncing ferret, and the whole school knows it."

Draco stared at him, furious, high spots of color on his cheeks. Harry thought he looked delicious. He was clearly searching for a comeback, for something to say that was worse than being called a ferret, but he couldn't seem to come up with anything. Then: "At least I'm not part Voldemort."

Harry's spoon clattered to the plate, and he went deathly pale. "How do you know about that?" he asked quietly, calmly, dangerously.

Draco smirked. "I'll never tell."

Harry's wand was out of his pocket and pointed at Draco before he realized what he was doing. "You take that back," he spat. "Voldemort killed that part of me. He's gone."

Draco shrugged delicately. "Maybe. You might be right, I certainly wouldn't know. I do know that you have your wand pointed at me, someone you supposedly care about, and look ready to kill me."

A stream of green light shot out of his wand, knocking Draco back. Harry stepped around the table nervously; he wasn't sure what exactly the spell had done, only how furious he had been when he cast it. Draco was lying on the floor with green ropes binding his wrists and ankles together behind his back, rendering him helpless. Harry decided that wasn't too bad, though Draco did look rather terrified. Wand still pointed at him, he said, "I am _nothing_ like Voldemort." He waved his wand and the binds were gone. Draco sat on the floor, rubbing his wrists, staring at Harry in awe. "And I'll not have you forget it. If you ever, _ever_, say _anything_ like that again, you won't get off nearly so easily."

"I—yeah, okay."

Harry's eyes lost their dangerous look, and he tucked his wand back into his pocket. He offered Draco a hand, and Draco took it hesitantly, letting Harry help him to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, working to meet Harry's penetrating gaze. "I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," Harry interrupted. He leaned forward and brushed his lips ever so lightly against Draco's cheek. "It's alright. I probably overreacted. Just don't ever bring it up again." Harry pulled him into a hug and felt Draco slowly relax against him. "You have no idea…"

Draco rubbed a hand over his back, and Harry suddenly had to blink back tears. "You're nothing like him," Draco said softly.

"I have nightmares…" Harry started, then cut off. He pulled away brusquely, and sat back at his seat. "Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"I think you were making fun of me for having gold boxers," Draco said, teeth clenching. "Potter, you better know how much I care about you, to bring that up when you'd finally forgotten."

Harry smiled at him, any trace of anger gone. "Yes, that's right. You'll look good in gold, I think. I'll find out soon enough."

"I'd look even better out of them," Draco replied, the last vestiges of his fear melting away. "Oh, and by the way, next time you want to tie me up, just let me know first."

Harry's eyes widened. "I—er, you…?"

Draco smiled lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. "I've done more than you're measly little brain could possibly think of," he drawled. "Topped, bottomed, been bound and gagged, spankings, paddlings…why, the list goes on and on."

Harry was a dark red. "Er—"

"And you, poor little Potty," Draco said, taking Harry's chin in one hand, jerking his face from one side to the other, evaluating. "You haven't done anything."

Harry yanked his head free. "At least I don't sleep with people just because they're _there_."

Draco sighed, disappointed. "No, you wouldn't. You're much too noble for that. It's a shame, really; you'll never understand the delight of fucking just for the sake of pleasure."

"At least I'll show you what it's like to be really cared about," Harry shot back. "To be in a relationship without being used to gain money, status, whatever. I might be naïve, but I'd take that any day over your conquests."

Draco had the decency to look hurt. Or maybe he actually was, Harry couldn't tell. "I've had real relationships before," Draco said, chagrined. "Or, one, I suppose. Summer love and all that. Father was over the moon that I was dating a Greengrass, but it fell apart once I realized she was a total twat."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, Draco, not a real relationship. You have to actually _care_ about the person."

"So I suppose what you and _Ginny_ had was real?" Draco said, spitting out her name.

"Yeah, it was," Harry countered defensively.

"And so is what you and I have."

Harry flushed. "Yeah."

"Then I'll be in charge of the shagging, and you'll show me how to be a proper boyfriend," Draco said. He frowned. "That doesn't involve shagging, does it?"

Harry smiled. "Eventually."

Draco shook his head, amazed at himself. "What on earth have I gotten myself into?"

Harry, being in charge of the Room of Requirement, made a few adjustments to Draco's room. The plush couch was back, Gryffindor red, and the bed hangings were in Gryffindor colors as well. In place of the antique rug was a shag carpet, and Harry immediately took off his shoes and socks, burrowing his toes deep into the pile. The dresser and bookcase were still there, though Harry had added another few shelves filled with his Quidditch books, books Hermione had given him for holidays, some old books from the Black house, and even a few muggle books he had grown fond of over the summers. The Malfoy crest was gone, replaced with a Chudley Cannons banner. Harry might not support the team himself, but he had grown used to having the glaring orange on his walls. He also saw, to his surprise, the picture he had of his mum and dad adorning the mantle, next to the clock, and another picture of him, Ron and Hermione smiling and waving happily. Those had been on his dresser in his room; how had the Room known about that? Had it copied them, or were these the originals?

"How very homey," Draco drawled, collapsing on the couch in front of the fireplace. "Not a trace of taste anywhere."

"Hey, I left your books," Harry said, sitting next to him, wondering if it was alright for him to cuddle without the premise of a nightmare.

Draco looked over at the bookcase, raised his wand, and silently summoned an ancient tomb. It looked well read, and Draco flipped open to a page that looked ready to fall out. He drew Harry to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, Harry resting his head on Draco's chest. Draco started to read, Harry falling into the same trance as when Draco had sang.

_He stood before me, an unknown vision_

_Thrumming through mine veins, a barcarole to soothe_

_What before had been tragic collision,_

_A heart as scabrous as mine now shined smooth._

_Emerald eyes held mine hostage 'til time_

_Split in two, the world did fly away_

_Lips caught mine in ever most sublime_

_Naught but words sent from heavens could convey_

_He stoked the fire caught within, brought me_

_To my very knees, penance for the presence_

_I brought him under the stars of Capry,_

_Light sparking through his hair in the crescents._

_For a lifetime I'd search for him, that boy_

_Who left this poor man a shattering joy._

"It's by a muggle poet; I had to hide the book from Father," Draco said. "Nicholas Skyes. I've had this book since I can remember. That's my favorite, but—" Harry interrupted him with a kiss, tangling his hands in Draco's hair.

"That was amazing," Harry breathed. "I had no idea…"

Draco laughed. "That I'd be interested in muggle poetry? What can I say, it's a weakness of mine. I'm particularly fond of Chaucer, the dirty bastard, but Skyes will always be my favorite.

"You are amazing," Harry said, and Draco smiled, practically glowing in the firelight.

"I know," he said. "You're not too bad yourself, even if you don't read me poetry by a roaring fire. That's what people in 'real relationships' do, right?" Draco asked, using air-quotes. "I suppose you'll be making me go for a long walk on the beach next."

Harry grinned. "I'd rather play Quidditch."

Draco laughed, the sound resonating through his chest, Harry nearly tingling from the sensation. "Good answer." Draco flew the book back to the shelf, and pursed his lips. "Y'know, if we want to have Slughorn's potion done in time, we really ought to start it tonight."

Harry groaned. "You read me poetry, make me all weak in the knees, and then expect me to do potions? What's wrong with you?"

Draco laughed again. "The bottom drawer of the dresser has ingredients. Fetch me eye of newt, bat wings and the vial of dragon blood, would you?"

Harry wanted to protest, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Besides, maybe if he got the materials, Draco would do the actual brewing, and he wouldn't have to think about it. When he returned, Draco had magicked a cauldron floating in midair, a small shelf next to it, and Harry put the bottles down on that.

"This shouldn't be hard," Draco said, carefully measuring out each ingredient. "It just needs to simmer for ages."

"What is it again?" Harry asked, leaning back. He'd been too busy with his—and Ron's—Muggle Studies essays to have even considered potions.

"A restorative," Draco replied, stirring carefully. "Rather like the one I gave to you after you so gracefully flew into my broom, but more powerful. Also a great cure for hangovers, though I suppose Slughorn would rather we not know that. Here, take over stirring. Clockwise, Harry, don't be daft. Healing potions are always clockwise."

"Uh huh," Harry said, sliding into Draco's seat as he got his bag and rejoined Harry on the couch. Draco conjured a table and began spreading his books out. "What're you doing?"

"Herbology essay," Draco replied. "On why the _putribilibus cucurbitae_ is worth growing." He glanced at Harry. "Don't stop stirring, not until I say so."

"So you get to do actual homework, while I sit here and stir?"

Draco smirked. "I'm wearing your bloody Gryffindor colors; you'll do anything I say, and you'll like it. And before you throw a fit, remember that's _our_ potion, and if you screw it up, we'll both get bad marks."

Harry stewed angrily as he watched Draco do his Herbology essay. Not that Herbology was particularly fascinating, especially not the _putribilibus cucurbitae, _but at least he was _doing _something. Harry took his wand out of his pocket and absentmindedly began changing the colors of random objects; the dresser went from its natural wooden color to a vivid green, then a deep blue, followed by a light periwinkle. The bookshelf became a dazzling red, and the carpet faded rose.

"Harry, pay attention to the potion," Draco said mildly as his table started flashing between black and white, finally ending up a checkerboard.

"I am," Harry replied, momentarily turning Draco's parchment bright pink before quickly changing it back at the look he got. "Clockwise. I got it."

Eventually, Draco closed his Herbology book and inspected the potion. "I imagine that's enough for tonight," he said, sending the cauldron into the corner. "It'll have to be checked on tomorrow morning, of course," he added with a pointed look at Harry.

"I don't understand you at all," Harry said. "Giving me the busywork of the potion, when you could've just enchanted it to stir itself. Clockwise isn't exactly rocket science."

Draco raised a delicate eyebrow. "You could have, too," he said. "Besides, it had to get done, and I wanted a head start on my Herbology essay."

"Oh, so you have better things to do with your time, while I've got nothing better to do that stir a potion for an hour."

"Harry, don't be ridiculous. It wasn't a second over forty-five minutes. I was keeping an eye on the clock."

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "You. Are. Hopeless," he said, carefully enunciating each word.

Draco smiled wickedly. "I am, am I?" he asked softly, sliding over to Harry, pressing their bodies together. "I hardly think you know me well enough to make such a broad statement," he said, trailing a finger down Harry's chest. "There's _plenty_ I'm quite skilled at."

Harry grabbed his hand. "You'll not seduce me out of being mad at you."

"Are you sure about that?" Draco asked, removing his jumper and undershirt in one smooth motion. "Not even if I sit in front of you, wearing only a Gryffindor tie and boxers?" he asked, gracefully slipping out of his shoes, socks and slacks. "Because I rather thought that's why you agreed to the deal," he said, mussing his hair with one hand and loosening his tie slightly with the other. "What do you think, Harry? Are you sufficiently distracted?"

Harry couldn't answer. His eyes were raking over Draco's body, taking everything in, lingering on the tie. There was something utterly irresistible about Draco in nothing but a tie, especially with his hair hanging in face like that.

"Harry," Draco drawled, shifting so he was facing Harry, sitting on his legs, leaning back on his arms. He tossed his head back, exposing the marks Harry had made the night before. "You didn't answer my question. Don't you like me like this?"

Harry licked his lips, trying to find his voice.

"Harry," Draco whispered, locking eyes. "Have I been bad?"

Harry let out a low growl and launched himself at Draco, pushing him back so he was lying on top of him. His lips crashed against Draco's, his hands flying over his chest, pausing only to pinch a nipple or dip quickly into his bellybutton. Draco was gasping and moaning beneath him, and it was all Harry could do to not rut against him. Instead he focused on Draco's mouth, on how soft his lips were and how delicious he tasted; Harry was fairly convinced he could get drunk off the taste. Draco's hands flew to his hair, then slid down his back, pulling up at Harry's shirt and jumper.

"Get these off," he panted. When Harry took more than a split second to oblige, Draco grabbed his wand and waved it distractedly at Harry. His jumper and pants vanished, but his socks and undershirt remained. "Goddammit," Draco breathed. "I can't bloody do this when you've gotten me all—all like this."

Harry smiled roguishly and removed his shirt and socks on his own. Draco dropped his wand as Harry's lips found his already sensitive neck. There were tiny shoots of pain at the bruised skin being sucked and bitten, but Draco didn't have the presence of mind to complain, nor did he particularly mind. Especially not when Harry started playing with the waistband of his boxers, teasing him, threatening to slide his hand inside and then pulling out.

"Harry," Draco whined. "Don't—"

"You want me to stop, then?" Harry asked, sounding only a little breathless.

"I'll curse you if you do," Draco replied, reaching up and pulling him back down to his lips.

Harry still didn't feel as if he knew what he was doing, but Draco certainly didn't seem to mind. He was panting and moaning, squirming beneath his body, aching for his touch, and Harry was more than happy to oblige. He forced himself to move slowly, to find every sensitive spot, to make sure they each got the attention they deserved. The hollow just beneath his throat, the curve of his hipbone, a spot between two of his ribs. Each got its own careful ministration.

Harry skipped over Draco's boxers, feeling only a little awkward, mostly just focused on providing Draco with as much pleasure as he could. He found the spots behind Draco's knees to be incredibly sensitive, as well as the insides of his thighs, and just next to his anklebone. By the time Harry moved back up for a kiss Draco was practically keening, his body shaking, mind shot through with pleasure. Harry grabbed his tie and pulled him up, Draco anchoring himself on Harry's shoulders as Harry ravished his mouth. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry pulled away, working hard to control his breathing, and lay down on Draco, resting his head on his chest, gently stroking the over-sensitized skin.

"Harry," Draco breathed. "You…I don't believe you," he stammered.

"Don't believe what?" Harry asked, regaining his composure, feeling almost calm.

"There is no way you haven't been with a boy before," Draco managed. "You just…"

Harry smiled against his skin, taking great pleasure in making Draco talk in this state. "I just what?"

Draco made a protesting noise. Instead of answering verbally, he shifted his hips slightly, and Harry felt a sudden hardness against his hip. Harry froze, which Draco seemed too hazy to realize.

"Draco," Harry said warningly, but Draco seemed to take it as encouragement, and lightly thrust against him. "Draco, don't. Later."

His words finally penetrated, and Draco let out a frustrated groan. "You'll have to get off me, then," he sighed. "I've got to take a shower."

"You…" Harry trailed off. The thought of Draco wanking to him in the shower, the shower that was a single wall away, was almost excruciating.

"I've got to take care of this somehow," Draco stated, starting to get his voice under control. "How is up to you."

Harry let out a shuddering sigh. "Alright. Take a shower."

Draco made a small, involuntary whimper of disappointment. "You have to get up, then."

Harry sat up, immediately missing the full-body contact. Draco stretched, showing off his long, lean body, and stood gracefully, though Harry could see he was still shaking. He could see other things, too, covered by only a thin layer of silk. Draco saw his staring, and smirked.

"Last chance, Harry," he said throatily.

Harry shook his head, nearly all of his brain screaming at him to drag Draco back onto the couch and finish what he had started. But there was a small bit that was still thinking rationally, and, however much he wanted Draco, he knew he ought to wait.

"Alright, then." Draco sauntered into the bathroom, swishing his hips, and closed the door behind himself. Half a moment later, the door opened again, and Draco stuck his head out. "Why've we got to wait, again?" he asked, eyes dark with lust.

Harry found it terribly difficult to come up with an answer. "I've not done this before," he said. "I want to take it slow."

"Why?" Draco moved around a bit, then said, "I'm completely naked, except for your tie. Are you _sure_ there's nothing you'd like to do about that?"

Harry closed his eyes. "There are an awful lot of things I'd like to do about it," he said, voice only barely cracking. "But not tonight. You'll just have to wait."

Draco, grumbling with annoyance, closed the door, rather harder than he needed to. A moment later Harry heard the shower turn on, and he gripped the cushions, thinking he'd need the shower himself once Draco was done.


	15. Chapter 15: In which Howlers are

**A/N: **M'kay, I've got a couple things to say, but I'll try to keep it short. First up:

**WARNING: This chapter has sexual contact between two consenting of-age boys. **If that sort of thing bothers you, it should be easy enough to ignore. It happens at the end of their date, so just stop when you come to it.

Also, in yesterday's A/N I was being a bit daft about counting, and the Great Malfoy Weekend Secret shall be revealed in chapter twenty, not twenty-one. Sorry about that.

Finally, and I absolutely hate to say this, and it is most certainly not directed at everyone, but at first there were all the reviews, and then it seems lately there have been none of them, and, y'know, reviews are like cupcakes for my soul, so maybe you could owl off a word or two, just to let me know you're still out there?

Anyways. That's enough self-pity for now. Enjoy your smut, my friends!

**Chapter Fifteen:**

_**In which Howlers are utterly unimportant.**_

Harry was nearly asleep when something occurred to him.

"So you named your owl after the poem then, did you?"

Draco stirred against him, the smell of his shampoo tickling Harry's nose. "Yeah," he sighed. "After Capricornius, the constellation. He was born in late January." Draco yawned. "Must we talk? I was looking forward to a good night's sleep."

"Thought you never slept," Harry said teasingly, tracing patterns on Draco's bare back.

"I told you, Potter, it's easier when you're here. Now shut up."

Harry woke up thinking he was having a nightmare; why else would Lucius Malfoy be screaming at him? Surely he was banned from Hogwarts.

"—_**INGRATE OF A MALFOY, UNDESERVING OF YOUR FAMILY NAME, THE NAME THAT YOUR MOTHER HAS WORKED SO HARD TO UPHOLD, DARING TO BE SEEN IN GRYFFINDOR COLORS, JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY CANE ON YOU—"**_

Draco groaned, burying his face in Harry's chest, and Harry realized they were on the receiving end of a particularly nasty Howler.

"—_**EATING DINNER WITH HOUSE ELVES! WE RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THAT, DRACONIUS! THANK YOUR LUCKY STARS IT WAS I WHO OPENED THE LETTER; YOU WOULD HAVE THE DEATH OF YOUR MOTHER ON YOUR SHOULDERS HAD SHE SEEN YOU AND THAT—THAT—POTTER EMBRACING—"**_

_Letter_? Harry thought blearily, hardly able to think at all through the ear-shattering screams. _What letter?_

"—_**DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, BUT IF I EVER CATCH YOU AT ANYTHING EVEN APPROACHING THIS LEVEL OF UTTER DISDAIN FOR YOUR FAMILY AGAIN, YOU'LL BE PULLED OUT OF HOGWARTS SO FAST YOUR HEAD WILL SPIN FOR WEEKS."**_

The letter turned into ash, then disappeared.

"Well, then," Harry said after he felt an appropriate amount of time had passed. "You owe me ten galleons."

Draco sat up, staring at him, dumbfounded. "What the bloody hell are you talking about, Potter?"

Harry felt the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. "You said you'd get the Howler by dinner, and it's the middle of the night. So that's another ten galleons added to the hundred you lost playing Quidditch." For a moment Harry honestly thought Draco was going to hit him. Then Draco collapsed onto the bed, pulling the blankets over his burning face. He said something, but Harry missed it. "Sorry, what was that?"

"_Pansy Parkinson is going to bloody pay for that!"_ Draco yelled, remaining under the blankets. "She must have followed me from the dungeons. I could have sworn I saw someone tailing me. Though how she managed to slip into the kitchens long enough to take a picture, I'll never—"

"It's alright," Harry said. "Least it came while we were alone, yeah? And you father would've found out eventually."

Draco's head appeared from under the blankets, glaring furiously at him. "You don't understand," he snapped.

"You keep saying that," Harry replied. "What exactly is it that I'm not understanding?"

Draco continued to glare at him, trying to find a suitable answer. "Forget it," he said eventually. "You'll find out soon enough, I suppose, but until then…" He trailed off, and ran a hand through his hair, already messy with sleep. He suddenly began squirming beneath the sheets, then threw the golden boxers at Harry. "And if you think I'm wearing _these_ anymore, you are sorely mistaken."

Harry swallowed dryly. "You—you're naked then, are you?"

Draco sneered. "Not that you're allowed to touch me, not after that bloody Howler." He curled up on the edge of the bed, facing away from Harry, who was staring at him indignantly.

"This was not my fault!" Harry managed, anger and arousal making it nearly impossible to talk. "You were the one who thought of the bet!"

"I'm no longer speaking to you, Potter," Draco said coolly.

Harry had to do something to let out his anger, but his wand wasn't in reach, and the last time he had pointed it at Draco in anger, he hadn't entirely been in control of the results. Instead, he grabbed one of the many pillows, and hit Draco over the head with it as hard as he could.

Draco whirled around. "Did—did you throw a _pillow_ at me, Potter?"

Harry had realized how juvenile the act was before the pillow had even made contact, but he couldn't stop himself. "Er, yeah."

Draco gaped at him, then threw his own pillow at Harry. "Bloody immature half-blood—" Harry stopped Draco's tirade with another blow of his pillow, this time having to hold back a smile. "Stop that!" Draco snapped. "Seriously, Potter, I'm far beyond—" He spluttered as the pillow hit his face. "Alright," he said dangerously, batting it away. "You asked for it." Suddenly his wand was in his hand, and every pillow on the bed was attacking Harry, whirling through the air and slamming full force into him.

"Hey!" Harry yelled in between mouthfuls of pillow. He took out three with one swipe of his arm, barely giving himself time to say, "No wands!"

"There will be wands if I say there will be, Potter," Draco drawled, watching with a detached glee as the bed attacked Harry. Eventually, seemingly out of boredom, he waved his wand and the pillows dropped harmlessly to the bed. "Have you learned your lesson yet, _Potter_?" he sneered.

Harry threw a pillow at Draco without thinking about it. Draco raised an eyebrow as well as his wand, and Harry let out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, fine. I won't attack you with pillows anymore."

"Very good." Draco waved his wand again, and the pillows resumed their rightful place. "Now let's get some more sleep, shall we? It's not even light out."

Harry lay back and Draco curled himself around Harry, sighing contentedly. "This is much better than fighting, isn't it?" Harry let out a strangled noise. Draco was curled against him, naked. _Naked_. Harry stopped breathing, grinding his teeth together to prevent a moan from escaping. "What, you'd rather have a pillow fight than—_oh_," Draco said silkily. "I see." He shifted against Harry, gently rubbing himself against his hip. "You'd forgotten I had divested myself of those godforsaken Gryffindor boxers." Harry made an affirmative noise, and Draco smirked. "Good luck sleeping," he taunted.

"Put them back on," Harry said, sounding strangled.

"Shan't," Draco replied, seeming completely relaxed. But Harry had a hand on his back, and he could feel how tight his muscles were. No, Harry was not the only one affected by their position.

"You agreed to wear them," Harry said.

"I did no such thing," Draco replied "I said I would wear Gryffindor colors for the weekend, yes. I did not specify—nor did you—the stipulations under which I was allowed to wear nothing at all, allowing me a clear loophole. Perhaps I shall spend the rest of the weekend like this," he mused. "I'll need to remain at your side at all times to stay warm, of course, but that shouldn't be a problem, should it, Harry?"

"Lunch—dinner," Harry stammered. "Our date—"

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "I'll have you bring me food, and we'll take your cloak down to the lake," he threatened. "After all, there's nothing more symbolic of the Gryffindor household than the great Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility, now is there?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "You will wear clothing, and they will be Gryffindor colored. You brought this on yourself."

Draco sighed delicately. "Alright, fine," he conceded. "But I'm not getting dressed now. I'm far too comfortable."

Harry, certain he couldn't win that argument, didn't reply. Slowly, eventually, he fell asleep, images of what lay just below the covers dancing through his mind.

Saturday morning and afternoon proceeded rather blandly. Draco did, at Harry's insistence, get dressed, and they spent most of their time doing homework. They ate in the kitchens, and Harry disappeared mysteriously after lunch, rejoining Draco in the Room of Requirement shortly after with nothing but a grin and a quickly hidden _something_ to show for his absence. Draco slowly became more and more agitated at the surprise, and by the time eight rolled around, he was practically begging Harry for an explanation.

"Here, put these on," Harry said, tossing Draco a pair of swim trunks. They were golden with a red band and peppered with tiny red lions.

Draco gave them a look of utter disdain. "I hate you, Potter," he snapped, yanking down his pants and boxers, just barely giving Harry time to turn away. He continued to mutter angrily under his breath, stopping only when Harry began to change. "Nice arse, Potter," he drawled appreciatively, causing Harry to nearly fall over in his desire to be covered as quickly as possible.

"Shut it," Harry replied, pulling his pants back on and summoning a pair of towels from the bathroom as Draco fully dressed himself. Harry grabbed the bag of gillyweed out from under his pillow and stuffed it in his pocket before Draco could see. "Ready?"

Draco stuck his head out the window, just barely able to fit through it. "Harry, it's bloody freezing out," he said, turning to face Harry, who noted with a smile that even the moment he had spent in the open air had whirled his hair into a disorderly mop.

"Just trust me," Harry said lightly. He took Draco's hand and kissed his cheek.

Draco let out a contented sigh before he could help himself. "Alright, fine," he said, following Harry out of the room. They walked down to the Dark Lake in silence, once outside admiring the clear sky, and the stars that looked down on them.

"I know all the constellations, you know," Draco said absentmindedly. "Father made me learn them before I could even read." He pointed with his free hand. "Look, see? There's mine."

Harry, who had never been good with astronomy, nevertheless nodded. "Er, yeah. Right next to that other bit, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Some day I'll take you up to the Astronomy Tower and—" He cut off. "Never mind. Capricornius is over there," he said, pointing over Harry's shoulder. "I'd name them all, but I can see your eyes glazing over in boredom already."

Harry flushed. "We're almost there," he said, gesturing at the Black Lake. They were approaching a tiny beach, scarcely big enough to notice, and Draco fell back into nervousness.

"Harry, this is a bloody idiotic idea," he said. "Seriously, we'll freeze." Harry reached into his pocked and grabbed half the gillyweed, handing it to Draco, who nearly dropped it in disgust. "What _is_ this? It's _slimy_. I don't choose to acquaint myself with anything _slimy_."

Harry had to stifle laughter. "It's gillyweed, what I used in the second task during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Strip down, then eat it. It's a bit slimy, yeah, but it's worth it."

They reached the beach and stripped down to their swimming trunks, shivering in the cold air. "Ready?" Harry asked.

Draco grimaced. "Suppose so." Harry looked at him, taking in his slim form, how stunning he looked in the starlight. Draco glared. "It's cold. There's…shrinkage."

Harry bit his lip against laughing. "Draco, you're spectacular. Now stop being ridiculous and let's go." He began wading into the lake, shoving the gillyweed in his mouth. "You're gonna wanna be in the lake already," Harry said, choking down the plant.

"Why—"

Harry felt gills beginning to emerge, and dived into the lake, waiting for Draco. When he didn't appear, Harry took a deep breath of water and paddled up to the surface. "Hurry up!" he said before diving back down. Eventually Draco appeared next to him, looking amazed and terrified.

"What are we doing down here?" he asked, a series of bubbles flowing out of his mouth. "What is this?"

"It's gillyweed. Come on, I'm taking you on a tour," Harry said, grabbing his arm and using his newfound flippers to propel them deeper into the lake. "Just be careful to avoid the Grindylows. And we should probably steer clear of the Merpeople."

Draco was mostly being dragged along, half-heartedly kicking every now and then. "This is even worse than the Forbidden Forrest," he said, looking around nervously. "I can't see a bloody thing."

Harry took out his wand and uttered the familiar spell, light radiating out from the tip. "C'mon. The last time I was down here I was distracted, but I know what I'm looking for is around here somewhere…" He continued to drag Draco along, holding his wand as high as he could. "Ah, there we go." Harry dived down suddenly, forcing Draco to actually swim.

"Harry, I really don't—" He stopped, seeing the view spread out before him.

Somehow they were standing at the edge of a lake, under water. There were small waves cresting gently along the shore as well as fully-grown trees, swaying mildly in the Black Lake. Draco could see creatures he had never seen before swimming below the surface, and he reached for Harry's hand.

"Harry, this is…"

"Incredible, isn't it?" Harry said, sitting down on the sandy edge, not quite able to call it a beach. "I saw it when I was down here before, but I didn't have time to investigate."

Draco sat next to him. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he said, working to keep the awe out of his voice and remain unimpressed. "Who knows what else is down here."

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't be daft, Draco," he said. "It's okay to be impressed."

Draco sniffed. "I've seen better."

"You liar," Harry said with a grin, pulling him in for a kiss. The sensation of kissing underwater was a little strange, but Harry quickly got used to the idea. Draco's mouth was almost searingly hot compared to the water of the lake, despite the insulation the gillyweed provided.

"Harry, look," Draco said, pulling away. A dark shadow was appearing just under the surface of the lake, and then a creature he had never seen before flipped up, turned around, and dove back beneath the surface. It looked almost like a whale, if whales were twice the size and glowed like the moon.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Never seen anything like it," Draco said, and Harry smirked.

"I knew you'd be impressed," he said.

Draco silence him with a kiss. "I could show you things that would make this look like child's play," he said.

Harry's eyes glinted in the light of his wand. "Then you'll know where to take me for our next date."

"I've got an idea or two," he said wickedly. "If we can sneak off grounds, that is."

"Next weekend—"

"Is not available," Draco snapped. "I told you, now stop pestering me. We'll go out again soon enough. Can't you enjoy the date we're on now?"

"You're certainly grouchy," Harry replied. "But yes, fine, I'll stop asking about it." He scooted forward, dangling his feet into the darker water.

"You think that's a good idea?" Draco asked, a little nervously.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Harry asked. "I've got my wand."

"Something could bite your feet off before you even saw it," Draco snapped. "I really wish you wouldn't do that."

Harry raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Are you _concerned_ for me?" he asked teasingly. "Are you being _protective_?"

Draco grabbed Harry's arm and jerked him back, causing him to float away from the lake. "All those rumors about you are true; you really do go looking for danger," he retorted. "Just…just sit still, and stop talking, and stop doing stupid things."

Harry laughed. He slid onto Draco's lap, straddling him and leaning down for a kiss. "You're adorable," Harry said, pulling back.

Draco scowled. "Shut up. I am not."

"Are too," Harry said, kissing the tip of his nose. Draco jerked back.

"Goddammit, Harry," he said, hitting him on the side of the head. "I am _not_, and I'll not have you going around saying I am."

"You," Harry said, poking Draco in the chest, "need to relax."

Draco bristled. "I—Malfoys—"

"Malfoys, at least this one, do as I say," Harry said. He slid off Draco's lap and leaned against him, holding his hand. "Enjoy the scenery, would you? We're at a lake in a lake. Can't you just see the wonder in that?"

Draco kissed the top of his head. "I suppose it is rather unique," he said, trying and failing to sound unimpressed.

"Thank you." Harry nuzzled against him, gently nipping his neck. "We've got another half hour or so before the gillyweed wears off. Do you want to stay here or go exploring?"

"You're such a Gryffindor," Draco said, almost affectionately. "Never able to sit still, always wanting to go off poking your nose where it doesn't belong. What if you got eaten by the giant squid, then what would I do?"

Harry laughed. "We'll stay here, then," he said.

They emerged from the lake a half hour later, shivering. The protection from the gillyweed was gone, and the wind had picked up, not even the warmth of their towels enough to hold it back.

"We should get back," Harry said through chattering teeth, reaching for his robes.

"Wait," Draco said, raising his wand. "_Calidum borriro!_" he said, waving his wand in a circle around Harry and himself. Suddenly the wind was gone, the chill of the night air dissipated, and it felt as if they were standing in front of a fireplace.

"How'd—why—" Harry stammered, towel still wrapped around his shoulders.

"I don't feel like going in yet," Draco said. He carefully lay his towel on the ground and gestured for Harry to do the same. "The Manor gets positively frigid in the winter, and if I hadn't learned this spell years ago, I daresay I would have frozen to death." Draco lay down, stretching beautifully before resting his head on a propped up hand. "Care to join me, or are you just going to stare all night? Either answer is acceptable."

"Er, yeah, I'll join you," Harry said, laying his towel down next to Draco's and sitting on it.

"Harry," Draco drawled quietly. "You're sitting up."

"Yes?" Harry said, a bit nervously, looking at him. "Is that a problem?"

"I should say so," Draco replied. "Come on, Potty, lie down."

"You sure know how to get someone to do what you want," Harry said sarcastically, though he did as Draco said.

"Mmm," Draco purred. "That's much better." He slid onto Harry, resting his hands on either side of Harry's face. "You can relax, Harry," Draco said, sliding one of his legs between Harry's, who was looking at him, rather panicked. "You took me on a date," he said, slowly gyrating his hips against Harry's. "You deserve something in return." He leaned down and kissed Harry, sliding his tongue into his mouth, twining his fingers in his hair. "I can feel you wanting to protest," Draco said against his lips. "But you can't, can you? Not while I'm doing this." He slid his hand down, playing with the band of Harry's boxers. Harry's hips jumped up and Draco gasped. "Mm, Harry, that's it," he breathed, sliding his hand further down, keeping his hand on his hip, not straying inward. "I love you like this," Draco groaned, kissing him again, moving his hips faster. "You haven't said a single word; rendering you speechless is brilliant."

Harry let out a low groan, feeling something inside him snap. He rolled over, flipping Draco over so he was lying on his back. Draco looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, lips pouted, chest heaving with heavy breathing. Harry moaned at the sight, grinding himself harder against Draco.

"Harry," Draco sighed, one hand going to the back of his head to anchor Harry's lips against his, the other down to his ass, massaging, grabbing, holding him in place. "What happened to waiting?" he breathed, thrusting up. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Fuck waiting," Harry gasped. "We've waited long enough." He broke contact with Draco's mouth, dragging his lips down his neck, renewing the marks that hadn't had a chance to fade in the first place. He latched back onto the spot on Draco's collarbone, earning himself a long, low groan. Then he started moving lower, kissing, licking, nibbling his way down Draco's chest, paying careful attention to the places he knew to be sensitive. Draco's hands flew to Harry's shoulders and Harry grabbed his wrists, holding his hands against the grass.

"Let me," Harry breathed.

Draco whimpered. "Love it…controlling…"

Harry laughed breathlessly. "Think you've mentioned that." Harry moved lower, licking along the edge of Draco's swim trunks.

"Harry, Christ, stop teasing," Draco whined.

Harry's fingers fluttered beneath the band, suddenly unsure. He hadn't done this before, he didn't know how to proceed. Draco was moaning and whimpering beneath him, practically begging, and he thought he was about to freeze.

"Draco," he sighed quietly, fingers still beneath the band, just barely not pulling them down.

"Harry," Draco managed. "Mm, _please_."

Harry bit his lip. "What if…"

"Just…" Draco jerked his hips up. "You couldn't possibly…"

Harry slipped them down, just a bit, enough to see the top of the thatch of curly hair. Draco groaned again. "I don't know how…"

"I don't care how," Draco breathed. "Just touch me, _please_."

Harry slid the trunks the rest of the way off, Draco's cock bouncing to attention, and threw them to the side. Harry felt that curious dividing again; half of him was in awe at Draco's beauty, at what he was being allowed—hell, begged—to do, and wanted nothing more than to make him feel as good as possible. The other half was utterly terrified, equally scared of not doing a good job and of what he was doing in the first place. Was he really lying here on top of a naked Draco Malfoy, being pleaded with to touch him? Harry licked his lips, partially because they were dry but mostly out of nerves.

"Harry, _come here_," Draco demanded, pulling him down for a kiss. Harry could feel Draco against him, twitching slightly, slick with pre-cum. Harry kept his hands on Draco's face, fingers dancing over his cheekbones, jawline, temples. Draco's hands were fisted in his hair, holding him as closely as he could. "Harry, I don't care what you do," Draco said into his mouth. "After seven years of waiting, _anything_ is going to be incredible."

Harry hid his face in Draco's neck under the guise of kissing him. "You've really wanted me for seven years?"

Draco sighed, frustrated. "This is not when I wanted to have this conversation," he said, almost panting. "I'm _busy_ now. Or I _would be_—_ohhhh_," he cut off as Harry wrapped a hand around him. "Ohh, Merlin, yes." Harry continued to lick and gently nip his neck and he stroked up and down, twisting his hand over the head, then down to brush against his balls. "_Harry_." Draco was shuddering beneath him, arching up, grabbing at his hair, shoulders, hips. "Harry, you're perfect, don't stop," he breathed, grabbing his arm, urging him on. Harry found himself responding almost as much as Draco, shivering, making unidentifiable noises in the back of his throat, grinding himself against Draco's thigh. "Oh, _fuck_, yes, that," he keened, nearly screaming, as Harry did something, he wasn't exactly sure what. But he did it again, and suddenly Draco's fingernails were digging into him, his body thrusting entirely beyond his control, moaning and panting, eyes slipping closed and biting his lip. "Harry, I'm…_ohh, yes_. Harry, wait, no—wait—" Draco cut off, words turning into a high scream as he arched up, stiffened and let go. Harry kept his face buried in Draco's neck but continued to stroke him through his orgasm, extremely pleased and equally embarrassed. Eventually Draco's breathing slowed and he stopped shaking, stilling beneath Harry's hand. Draco felt over for his wand and disappeared the mess before utterly collapsing. "Harry, that was…"

Harry silenced him with a kiss. "Shh," he said softly, face burning. Draco reached up and rested a hand against his cheek, and Harry was sure he could feel the heat of his embarrassment.

"Are you blushing, Harry?" Draco asked quietly, smiling against his mouth.

"Shut up," Harry said, nibbling on Draco's lip.

Draco pushed back gently on Harry's shoulders. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about," he said, locking eyes with Harry. "You—I—" He seemed about to say something, but instead he kissed Harry again. Draco used his leverage on Harry's shoulders to roll him over, lying on top of him.

"You what?" Harry asked, running his hands up and down Draco's arms.

He blushed slightly. "Doesn't matter," he muttered. "I'll tell you later. In the mean time…" He positioned himself so he was supposed with one arm and trailed his fingers down Harry's side, feather light, causing Harry to shiver. He continued to stroke up and down, never letting his touch linger in one place for too long, only barely grazing Harry's nipples as he continued. Harry was shaking and panting almost immediately; Draco hadn't been lying, he was _incredible_ at this. He had hardly been at it, and already Harry could barely breathe.

Then Draco shifted, and suddenly his lips and tongue were replacing his hands, and Harry heard himself making noises he hadn't even known he was capable of. By the time Draco was just above his swim trunks, he was an utter wreck, unable to think, feel or process anything other than Draco and what he was doing. When his finger slipped beneath the band, Harry cried out, then immediately bit his lip.

"No need to be ashamed," Draco said, still a little breathily. "No one's around to hear you but me, and I rather like you noisy." Harry let out a moan at that, and Draco grinned. "That's better." Then he quickly removed Harry's boxers, and Harry froze. He had never been completely naked in front of someone before; what if Draco didn't like him, what if he wasn't good enough, what if…

"Harry," Draco breathed. "Merlin, Harry."

Harry squirmed beneath his gaze. "What?"

Draco kissed him, sweeping his tongue through his mouth before pulling back. "I should curse you for making me wait so long to see you like this," he said. He trailed his fingers down Harry's side again, this time following the line of his hipbone before closing around his erection. Harry moaned again, thrusting up uncontrollably. Draco started stroking him slowly, gently, and Harry felt like he was losing his mind. Why wasn't he going _faster_, _harder_? Harry whimpered, causing Draco to laugh throatily.

"Why, Harry, do you want something from me?"

Harry groaned, balling the towel in his hands, arching up.

"Use your words, Harry," Draco coached gently.

Harry closed his eyes. "Draco," he whispered. "Harder."

"What was that?" Draco asked lightly.

"Harder, _please_," Harry moaned, only a little louder. "Draco…"

Draco let out a sharp breath. "I love hearing my name like that," he exhaled. His hand tightened, speeding up. Harry jerked against him, making those noises again, the ones he had never heard before. Harry could feel himself getting closer, losing control, and he echoed Draco's motion, grabbing his arm and digging his fingers in. Draco removed his hand entirely, and Harry groaned.

"Draco, what're you—_oh, Christ, fuck, Merlin's beard,_" Harry started, words stringing together into one long, incomprehensible moan as Draco's mouth closed over him. Harry grabbed Draco's hair, anchoring him in place, knowing it was humiliating but unable to help himself. Draco didn't seem to mind; he hummed quietly, and Harry groaned, thrusting further into his mouth. Harry only lasted another moment before he came, screaming, pulling Draco's hair, hips stuttering and jerking uncontrollably. Draco swallowed easily, sucking and licking Harry clean before coming up and snuggling next to him.

"Draco," Harry sighed, kissing the top of his head, pulling him as close as humanly possible.

Draco smiled self-assuredly. "Aren't you glad you finally caved in?" he asked smugly.

"Mm," Harry replied contentedly.

"And how are you feeling? Any lingering doubts?"

Harry thought about it. "A few, yeah." Draco sighed huffily, but Harry kept talking. "Draco, I can't just forget what you did to me and my friends. I've forgiven you, I told you that, and you can clearly see I want this relationship—that I want _you_—but you'll have to give me time. There are things you're keeping from me, too. It's all right. We'll figure it out."

Draco had stiffened slightly, but he relaxed, mostly, by the time Harry finished talking. "I suppose you're right."

"And my friends—"

"We're not talking about your friends while we're naked," Draco snapped.

"Well, you're going to have to get used to them," Harry said. He let out a deep sigh. "I'll even sit with the Slytherins for you."

Draco stiffened again. "That won't be necessary," he said.

Harry squeezed his shoulder. "If it's my fault—"

"No, you just made it worse," Draco interrupted. He smacked Harry's head. "Now shut up, alright? You've got pillow talk all wrong—it's supposed to be sweet and relaxing, not dramatic and serious."

Harry rubbed where Draco had hit him, frowning. "Fine. But don't hit me."

"Fine." Draco snuggled further into Harry's arms, sliding a leg between Harry's. "I'm getting sleepy again," he mumbled. "I always get sleepy after sex."

"We should probably get back to the Room, then," Harry said, starting to sit up. Draco dragged him back down, firmly anchoring their bodies together.

"Not yet," he said firmly. "I told you I've got to teach you about sex—one of the rules is that cuddling afterwards makes it at least twice as good."

Harry grinned. "I can't believe those words just came out of your mouth."

"No, I imagine you're too busy thinking about what came _in_ my mouth," Draco teased.

"Even more," Harry continued, "I can't believe that either Pansy or Blaise would ever _cuddle_."

Draco frowned. "Well, not exactly, but Blaise was usually drunk enough that he'd pass out in my arms, and that's almost like cuddling. And Pansy would lie next to me, babbling about the most inane things until she fell asleep. But it was better when they'd stay."

"So, really, this still falls in my territory," Harry said with a bit of a smirk.

"Oh, shut it."


	16. Chapter 16: I've loved you for years

**A/N: **I'm rather in love with this chapter, if I do say so myself. I imagine there will be a faction of you who think I'm absolutely bonkers and the whole thing is utterly ridiculous, but I implore you to think about it, really think about it. I can't really argue my point without giving anything away, so just keep an open mind, yeah?

Also, because I need to plan things ridiculously far in advance, there won't be a chapter going up next Friday. I'm going to be at a memorial service in Philadelphia, and while I suppose there's a chance the hotel my parents and I are staying at will have internet, I won't have access to it until ten at night or so. I suppose you could check in around then, but more likely I'll be exhausted and in tears and unable to focus enough to remember to put up a chapter.

Oh, and one more thing: if you liked chapter fifteen, you're going to _love_ twenty-one. And if you didn't, I'll leave specific instructions on what to skip, not to worry.

One more thing: Unless something really weird happens, I'm going to break 100k words today. Merlin's beard. I've never written anything this long before in my life. I was being utterly ridiculous yesterday; you're all reviewing perfectly, and I should never have said anything at all. Thank you so much for your continued support through this adventure we're going on.

**Chapter Sixteen:**

"_**I've loved you for years."**_

Harry woke up out of sorts. A very naked Draco was curled around his own very naked body, both completely exposed; one of them must have kicked the blankets off in the middle of the night. Harry carefully removed himself from the bed, causing Draco to roll over and mutter something unintelligible. He walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on; really, they both should have washed after their trip in the lake before getting into bed, but they had been too tired, and Draco had been rather persuasive. Harry stepped under the spray, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair. Had he really done those things with Draco? The thought made his stomach squirm in a rather unpleasant way. He had meant to take it slow, had every intention of gradually building their relationship until he would not be having this morning-after freak out. But Draco had looked so good lying there, had felt so amazing on top of him, and he hadn't been able to help himself.

Harry didn't regret it, not exactly. There was still the little voice in the back of his head questioning Draco's motives, but he had been nothing but honest and forthcoming, next weekend aside, and Harry was quite sure that had nothing to do with him. But Draco did keep going on about Pansy and Blaise, leaving Harry to wonder if one day he would become just another story, just another conquest to impress people.

He really needed to ask Draco how long he had fancied him. Draco kept saying something vague about seven years, but the one time Harry had brought it up Draco had brushed it away—though, to be fair, he _had_ been busy. Perhaps he'd ask Draco after his shower, though then Draco would probably want to know how long Harry had fancied _him_, and that wasn't something he could answer yet. The dream where he and the subconscious Draco had talked was still vividly clear, and Harry decided he'd need to talk to Hermione about that sooner rather than latter. Sooner as in today, preferably before he interacted with Draco beyond a minimal, "Gotta go, see you soon".

Having a course of action calmed him, and Harry got out of the shower and toweled off, still somewhat lost in thought as he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked into the other room.

"You weren't in bed," Draco said immediately.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, finding the dresser contained a whole drawer of comfortable looking muggle clothes.

"I woke up and you weren't here," Draco repeated.

"I was in the shower," Harry said, pulling on a plain black shirt and an old flannel he could have sworn he recognized from his own wardrobe.

"Yes, I figured that out," Draco replied, sounding as if he thought Harry incredibly daft.

"You might want to take one yourself," Harry said, grabbing a pair of jeans. "You reek of the lake." He realized immediately his words were too harsh, but it was too late. Draco stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door. Harry tossed his towel into the hamper and collapsed on the couch.

_This is exactly why I wanted to wait_, Harry thought angrily. He summoned his battered copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ rather violently, adding another tear to the back cover as it scraped across the table. He flipped through it mindlessly, not particularly reading, just enjoying the feel of the familiar book in his hands. He wished desperately to be back in Gryffindor tower with Ron and Hermione at his side, but after Draco's accusation for just having left the bed, he thought he ought to wait to tell him in person where he was going.

Draco emerged after what seemed like ages, still toweling his hair off, leaving his body bare and the scent of his soap to waft gently over Harry, who wished he could close his nose; there was no way he'd be able to have a serious conversation with Draco when he smelled so damned good, never mind the fact that he was naked.

"I don't suppose I could get out of my Gryffindor robes sentence a day early," he said, throwing the towel in the hamper as he walked to the dresser. "I see you're not wearing your robes, and after what I did for you last night, I thought perhaps leniency was in order."

"Fine," Harry said, returning his eyes to his book, not giving Draco the satisfaction of being stared at. "Wear whatever you want."

Harry heard the drawers being opened and shut, and then Draco said: "You really are upset with me, aren't you?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Hurry up, would you? I wanted to fit in a game of Quidditch before lunch."

"What makes you think I'll play Quidditch with you?" Draco drawled, sitting next to Harry, who spared him a quick glance. He was wearing a black turtleneck and black slacks, and looked rather incredible. "Not when you're being so mean to me."

"How am I being mean to you?" Harry asked, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. Probably not the best strategy, but he couldn't help himself.

"Mean was perhaps the wrong word," Draco admitted. "Shall I rephrase the sentiment using distant instead?" Harry could hardly argue that. When he didn't answer right away, Draco asked, "Is it because of what we did last night? Are you so naïve to believe that sex really does change everything? Because I assure you, Harry, it does not."

"Of course it does!" Harry nearly yelled, sitting up and facing Draco. "It really didn't matter to you at all then, did it?"

Draco's eyebrows rose. "Of course it did, don't be daft."

"Then why would you say that about sex, that it doesn't—"

"Perhaps I'm not used to that," Draco interrupted. "To it changing things, I mean. Perhaps I'm just as confused as you look. Oh, wipe that surprised look off your face," he snapped. "You think you're so high and mighty, that you can hide everything you're feeling. Well I've got news for you, Potter—you're an open book, practically broadcasting your emotions through the entire school. So stop looking at me like I've done something terrible by knowing what's going through your tiny little mind."

Harry glared at him furiously for a moment before realizing the first thing he had said. "If it meant something to you, how can it not change everything?" he asked, honestly wanting an answer, because he couldn't seem to come up with one himself. Draco didn't answer so Harry tried a different tactic, despite his better judgment. "How long have you fancied me, then?"

Draco flushed, dropping his gaze. "Far longer than I'd care to admit, Potter," he said, sounding almost embarrassed. "And you'll not get any other answer out of me, so don't bother trying."

"You've said seven years," Harry continued. "Have you really wanted me since we first met?"

Draco's flush deepened. "I told you, Potter, don't—"

"Because that would also change everything," Harry interrupted. "Maybe, if that was true, all the times you teased me, tortured me, made my life a living hell, maybe that was just your pathetic, insecure way of getting my attention, of trying to get me to realize what you wanted."

Draco's eyes shot up, narrowing. "Watch yourself."

"And if that were the case," Harry said, continuing on as if he hadn't heard, "then I might be inclined to forgive you far more easily than if you were just torturing me for your own amusement."

Draco seemed utterly confounded, and Harry thought that was answer enough. If Draco had really been doing it just for fun, he'd be gloating, shoving it in Harry's face. But no; instead he was a bright red Harry thought rather suited him, and was slowly clenching and unclenching his hands.

"What do you want?" Draco snapped. "Do you want me to say I've been in love with you since I first saw you, that I've spent all these years pining and wishing and silently begging you to just _look at me_ _dammit_? Do you want to hear about how my mother nearly owled you a hundred times to plead for you to come to me? You asked about my parents; Father doesn't know, but Mother will be bloody _elated_. Do you know how many times I destroyed nearly every artifact in our Manor out of fury that you'd never look at me the way I wanted you to? Or maybe the nights I stayed up wanking to you, closing my eyes so I could pretend it was your hand on me instead of my own, or, later on, that it was you fucking me instead of Blaise? That I was terrified this morning when I woke up and saw that you were gone, that until I heard the shower start I thought you had left me? Is that it, _Potter_? Is that what the precious Golden Boy wants to hear?" Harry gaped at him. "You keep going on about moving too quickly, but from where I'm sitting, I couldn't imagine things moving slower." Draco's breathing had sped up through his speech, and he was staring at Harry with an intensity he had never before seen, from him or anyone else.

"Well?" Draco prompted angrily. "Have I been too honest? Crossed a line? Going to kick me out, Potter, never to speak to me again?" When Harry didn't immediately respond, Draco nearly screamed, "Would you just _say _something! Anything! Honestly, Potter, I couldn't care less if you said you hated me and never wanted to see me again as long as you just _say something_."

"Draco," Harry sighed, willing his brain to turn back on, willing words to come out of his mouth. "Draco, I don't know what to say."

Draco looked ready to punch him. "You don't know what to say. Brilliant." He collapsed back onto the couch, tension draining out of his body. "I've just told you all—all that, and you've got nothing to say."

Harry slid across the couch, pressing against Draco. He tried to take one of his hands but Draco jerked away. Harry saw he was near tears, and started talking, letting whatever wanted to come out come out without any thought or constraint. "I'm not going to insult you by lying to you. I've hated you since that first day on the train, regardless of why. After a while it wasn't so much hatred as much annoyance and then, as the war went on, suspicion and fear. But I—" Harry searched for the words. "I have reason to believe I may have fancied you longer than I thought." Draco looked at him, eyes narrow, brimming with unshed tears.

"What do you mean?"

Harry explained about his dream, not having the heart to hide it any more. "I meant to talk to Hermione before you," Harry said. "I wanted to get this straightened out before…"

"Before I could confess seven years of pent-up love to you," Draco finished.

Harry blushed. "Er, yeah."

Draco sighed shakily. He took Harry's hand, squeezing harder than was comfortable, but Harry didn't say anything, just squeezed back. "What you must think of me," he said with what almost passed as a laugh. "Draco Malfoy, declaring an undying love for the great and powerful Harry Potter."

"I think…" Harry trailed off. "I think I'm a little terrified. And honored. And that the last thing I want to do is to kick you out, or never speak to you again. I've needed you for almost as long as you've loved me, needed to have someone to fight against, to challenge me. And when that slowly turned into something else, into a different sort of need…Well, I'd hardly be surprised if it happened without my notice."

Draco snorted, and Harry noticed a lone tear escape. "You are entirely daft," he agreed.

Harry reached up and brushed the tear away. "Give me time, alright?" he said, leaning his head on Draco's shoulder. "I've got to play catch up to you. But I'm not leaving, I couldn't—" He stopped himself before he said something he shouldn't, then realized how stupid that was, given Draco's outburst. "I couldn't leave you," Harry said, almost whispering. "I need you."

Draco leaned down, turning Harry's face up to his, and kissed him, so gently and sweetly Harry thought he might cry himself. _Bloody brilliant_, he thought, not very angrily. _I'm a girl now. Fantastic_. But he kissed Draco back, gently sliding his tongue into his mouth, learning it as carefully as he had learned his body. Draco pulled away, resting his head on Harry's, squeezing his hand again.

"I love you," Draco whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, even as close as they were.

"I—I know," Harry stammered. "Nobody's ever said that to me before, you know. Not like this, I mean, in a relationship."

"Really? I wouldn't have thought Weasley could keep her mouth shut."

Harry shook his head, ignoring the insult in favor of their conversation. "We never—she—it wasn't what people thought," he stumbled. "She—we both thought it would be really intense, really magical. But it just kind of…fizzled out before it had a chance to even get going in the first place."

"And Cho?" Draco asked.

Harry made a negative noise. "She was still in love with Cedric. I was just…there."

"Pansy and Blaise never meant anything to me, you know," Draco said quietly. "I mean, they're my friends, my best friends, or at least they were, but we just fucked, it was never anything more. And Astoria…" He trailed off. "She wasn't what I thought. And…" He trailed off again, and Harry could see his blush renew, could feel it in how his forehead heated up. "She wasn't you." Harry kissed him, a quick brush. "You're shaking," Draco stated.

"I'm a bit overwhelmed at the moment," Harry replied.

Draco licked his lips and nodded. "So, you mentioned a game of Quidditch?"

Harry grinned, found it came easily, and wondered what that meant. "Yeah, Quidditch sounds good."

"Then let's go," Draco said, standing up and offering a hand to Harry, who took it. "I daresay I have an advantage over you at the moment, and I ought to use that while I can."

"Always looking for an out, you are," Harry said. They held hands as they walked down to the front hall, and this time there were plenty of people to see and stare. Draco seemed completely oblivious, but Harry had to work to not be bothered.

"I hope the field will be free," Draco said. Harry couldn't imagine him not seeing the stares, and decided Draco was just really, really good at not being bothered. "I've not had a chance to get my hands on a copy of the schedule yet."

"Oh, er, yeah," Harry said, not having thought of that himself. He was about to open the front door when Draco stopped and faced him.

"Wait, there's something I've got to do first." It was the beginning of lunch, and it seemed half the school was watching as Draco leaned over and kissed Harry thoroughly, claiming him, dispelling any doubts to the rumors flying around school. Draco held one hand against his neck, gently cradling his head, and kept the other in Harry's hand. Harry let himself be kissed, taking a minute to respond, to allow Draco's tongue in his mouth, to gasp at the contact. Draco let out a quiet groan, moving his hand from Harry's neck to his lower back, slowly grinding his hips against Harry's. Harry leaned heavily against him, unable to support himself, giving in completely to the other boy.

"Malfoy! Potter!" McGonagall's voice rang through the hall, and they quickly jerked apart. "I hardly think that's appropriate behavior!" she said. Harry thought he saw a look of astonishment on her face, but mostly she just looked like she always did when she was angry—lips tightening to a thin line, glaring angrily at them. "Twenty points from each of your houses, and you should be lucky it isn't more. This is not what I had in mind when I was speaking about inter-house relations! Now go find somewhere more—_private_," she said uncomfortably.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, dragging Draco out the front door. He had a look that suggested he was about to argue, and Harry didn't want to end up with detention, not this early in the year.

"I hardly think—"

"Draco, shut up," Harry said. "You were practically mounting me. She was right; we deserved far more than that."

"Still! Twenty points a piece? For a kiss?"

Harry couldn't help smiling. "That was not just a kiss and you know it." The Quidditch field came into view and, thankfully, it was empty. The weather was pleasantly mild, though there was a breeze Harry thought might turn into something more vicious when he flew. "So, what're the stakes?" he asked. "Your turn to name something."

"Are sexual favors allowed?" Draco asked, opening the gaming cabinet and letting the snitch free. "Because, if that's the case—"

"Don't push your luck," Harry interrupted. "You've given me enough to think about already without having to worry that I've never given a blowjob, or that I can't give a decent handjob."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Draco admonished. "You did just fine, for your first time."

Harry swatted his arm. "C'mon. What do you want?"

"I can't think of a thing," Draco sighed dramatically. "Not that doesn't involve your hands, or your mouth, or—"

"I get the picture," Harry said, interrupting again. "We could always play for galleons."

"Galleons bore me," Draco sniffed arrogantly, though Harry happened to agree. "I've got enough of those to last a lifetime. Think of something else. Also, Potter, it is not my turn to think of something. I was the one who thought of the robes."

"I—er," Harry stammered. He found Draco was right; all his thoughts were straying below the belt, and he couldn't seem to come up with anything else. His head was still spinning from everything Draco had told him, not to mention that spectacular kiss in the front hall. After several minutes of thought, Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "I give up. We play for bragging rights."

"No, no," Draco chastised. "Bragging rights are even more boring than galleons. Loser has to go to Venus and Eros and purchase something for us."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What is that?"

Draco laughed lightly. "Figures you wouldn't know. It's a sex shop, Potter. It's in Hogsmeade, if you know where to look."

Harry flushed. "A-alright," he stammered.

"That way, when I'm away next weekend, you'll have something to do rather than just pine over me," Draco smirked.

Harry glared at him. "I wouldn't assume you'd win if I were you," he said.

"We'll see," Draco drawled. "Come on, let's get our brooms." A moment later they were in the air, Harry desperately searching for the snitch. He had never been to a sex shop before, and wasn't eager to change that, nor to admit it to Draco.

"Oh, don't be so pouty, Potty," Draco said, coming up to fly next to him. "I'm sure Granger and Weasley can help you. They must be well-versed by now."

"Like you know anything about it," Harry snapped.

"More than you'd think. More than I'd like, actually," Draco replied, wrinkling his nose. "You wouldn't believe the rumors flying around about them. It seemed I was getting a letter every other day detailing their love life, and hardly anybody's even speaking to me. I can't imagine what someone like Pansy or Lavender knows."

"You're a prat, Malfoy," Harry spat. "Leave them alone."

"It was a _compliment_, Potter," Draco said. "I'd just _die _to try _half_ of what they've done."

"Seriously, Malfoy," Harry warned. "Shut up."

"Though I suppose I've got you now," Draco said, seeming to consider the idea. "Just what _are_ you up for, Potty?"

"None of your business!" Harry snapped, trying and failing to pull ahead.

"Of course it's my business," Draco replied. "I am you boyfriend, and as such, I get to be privy to your deepest, darkest fantasies."

"You'll just have to find out for yourself," Harry said.

"You'll have to tell me your safe word, then," Draco said. "Wouldn't want to scar my precious Potty, not without his permission."

"I'll think of one later," Harry said, evading. It had never occurred to him that he might end up in a relationship that required a safe word, and he found the prospect equally exciting and terrifying.

"You'll think of one now," Draco demanded. "For instance, hypothetically, what if I did this?" he asked, and, with a flick of Draco's wand, Harry felt a hard smack to his ass, despite the fact that he was sitting on his broom and Draco was several feet away. He let out a noise of protest. "And what if you didn't like it? You'd have to have _some_ way of telling me."

"Draco, for Merlin's sake, we're playing Quidditch," Harry said. "This is not the time—"

"_You_ might be playing Quidditch," he interrupted. "_Some_ of us are talking about sex."

"And some of us aren't!" Harry leaned forward, launching his broom halfway across the field before Draco even noticed he was gone.

"You can't avoid me forever!" Draco yelled after him. "Oh, and Potter?"

"What!" Harry yelled, wheeling his broom around. "What do you want?"

Draco smirked. "Just wanted to let you know I've caught the snitch," he said, holding it up. "You dashed away just as it appeared. It was rather amusing, actually."

"I—you bloody—" Harry cut himself off. He slammed onto the ground, stalking angrily towards the Gryffindor changing rooms to put his broom away.

"Oh, come on Potty, don't sulk," Draco said sweetly. "It'll be more fun than you think. I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

Harry grumbled under his breath as he stashed his broom. When he came out, Draco was staring at a piece of parchment with a frown, and Harry was surprised and happy to see Pig perched on Draco's shoulder, who appeared not to notice.

"Ron wrote to you?" Harry asked, coming over and grabbing at the note.

Draco snatched it away. "I'm not going, it doesn't matter."

"Going where?" Harry asked. "Lemme see!" He managed to wrestle the paper out of Draco's hands, quickly skimming the note.

_Malfoy—_

_Game of wizard chess tonight? Hermione's been absolutely impossible about a peace offering, and it's gotten so seeing you is actually better than listening to her anymore. Gryffindor tower at eight._

_And, before you set fire to this, remember you'll have to face Hermione if you don't show up._

—_Ron_

Harry grinned. "You absolutely are going, and I won't hear another word on the subject."


	17. Chapter 17: In which wizard chess unites

**A/N:** First, a note about chapter titles. Like I said ages ago, will only let me type a certain number of characters and, of course, "…" doesn't show up. So, y'know, if it looks like it's cut off, it probably is. Just check inside for the real title.

Also, **WARNING:** sexual situations. I wouldn't say too terribly X-rated, but definitely some action going on. It's at the very end and it starts slowly and obviously, so if you're uncomfortable, just stop reading.

And…hmm…what else? I think that's it! I'm off to write chapter twenty-two, which will certainly be a doozy, though I can't tell you why yet. I have to say, I'm a little daunted by what I've set myself up to write. Still, the show must go on!

**Chapter Seventeen:**

_**In which wizard chess unites the modern world, and Dean's commentary allows for conversation.**_

Harry had to physically force Draco up the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower, keeping one hand on his shoulder and the other digging the tip of his wand into Draco's back.

"You are going to pay for this, Harry Potter," Draco snapped as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"_Lemon drop_," Harry said neutrally. "And I most certainly—"

"Wrong," the Fat Lady interrupted.

Harry stared at her. "What do you mean, wrong? It worked just fine the other day!"

"Professor McGonagall has insisted on new passwords weekly," the Fat Lady said. "As an improved security measure. I think it's ridiculous myself, but it is my job to guard Gryffindor Tower, and guard it I shall."

Draco smirked. "Looks like we won't be going in after all."

Harry practically threw his hands in the air. "I'm _Harry Potter_," he said. "Don't you recognize me?"

"Of course I do," she sniffed. "But I can't let you in without the password."

"I—you—" Harry sputtered. Then he took a deep breath. "Alright. Passwords. Sherbet lemon?" The Fat Lady shook her head. "Er, cockroach cluster? Acid Pops? Fizzing Whizbees? Toffee—"

"You can stop, you've gotten it," she said, sliding open.

"Fizzing Whizbees then?" Harry asked.

"I am not under liberty to divulge that information."

"You know I'll just get Hermione to tell me," Harry said, though he knew from years of experience arguing with her that it was pointless.

"Go ahead and do that," she replied. "Then we won't have to have this conversation again. And get inside, will you? I can't stand being left open like this."

Harry renewed his grip on Draco and pushed him into the room. He shouldn't have been surprised by how crowded it was; Sunday nights were generally spent squeezing in last minute studying or relaxing in front of the fireplace, and this night was no different. The room fell into complete silence as the Gryffindor's took in Draco's presence; a lack of surprise from Neville, eyes bugging out from Seamus and Dean, glares from the French girls, whispering from Parvati and Lavender, vacant looks from the first years and exchange students who could tell something was strange but not what.

"Oh, there you are," Hermione said conversationally, as if there was nothing strange at all about Draco in the Gryffindor common room. "Good. Ron's got the chess set out already, come on." She led them over to the fireplace, having already secured the best seats in the room. Ron was setting up, refusing to look anywhere other than his chessboard.

"Harry," Draco said through gritted teeth. "If you do not let me leave this instant—"

"Sit down," Harry said, pushing on his shoulders until he sat opposite Ron. Harry leaned down and brushed his lips against Draco's ear, whispering, "I'll make it worth your while."

Harry could hear his teeth grinding. "Fine."

Harry gave him a proper kiss, seeing Ron's face turning a bright red out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you."

Harry sat down next to Hermione, taking over the nearest couch.

"It's rather incredible, don't you think?" Hermione said quietly. "How did you manage to get Draco here?"

"Through the clever use of threats and promises of things you don't want to hear about," Harry replied just as softly. The room was quiet enough as it was; no doubt their conversation could be heard in every corner no matter how loudly they spoke, but they tried. "What about Ron?"

"Oh, I just told him I wouldn't sleep with him until he at least made an effort to be civil," Hermione said. "It's quite an effective threat. I've gotten him to clean his room, do his homework, even de-gnome the garden for Mrs. Weasley."

Harry snorted. "I imagine Ron was thrilled about that."

"Quite," Hermione replied. "Something about how I'm not allowed to mix sexual threats with his mum's chores, or some such nonsense. Honestly, if he'd just help out around the house in the first place, it wouldn't be an issue."

"Right, then," Ron said stiffly, interrupting their conversation. "Black or white?"

"I hardly think it's fair to let you go first with your own chess set. I will be playing as white," Draco stated, turning the board to face him.

"I didn't enchant the bloody thing," Ron muttered angrily. "Check it for yourself if you don't believe me."

"I don't believe that would be considered sporting," Draco drawled. "A certain amount of trust is called for under these circumstances."

"Does he always talk like that?" Hermione whispered.

"Mostly, yeah, especially when he's angry," Harry whispered back. "Not in bed though."

Hermione swatted his arm. "Harry, I've been very good about not sharing—"

"I was joking, 'Mione, calm down."

After a lengthy consideration, no doubt longer than necessary, Draco made his first move.

"And they're off!" Dean shouted, causing nearly the entire room to jump. "Malfoy's made a classic first move, pawn to King three. How will Weasley—"

"Dean, shut up," Ron snapped. "This is chess, not a bloody Quidditch match."

"Blimey, Ron, I was just trying to break the tension," Dean said, only slightly admonished. He resumed his announcer's voice. "Weasley's knight to Bishop three, very interesting!"

Harry, grateful for Dean's shouting, took the opportunity to whisper to Hermione, "I've got to ask you about something."

"If it's your Muggle Studies essay, Harry, I told you to finish that by—"

"No, no, it's nothing like that. How—how long do you think I've fancied Draco?" he asked, dropping his voice so Hermione could barely hear him.

Hermione frowned at him. "I'd think you'd know that better than I."

"Yeah but what if—if maybe I was—suppressing it?" Harry asked, eyes darting around to make sure nobody was listening. But the room seemed focused on the game and Dean's commentary, and he decided they were safe. "I had a dream—"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione interrupted with a scowl. "You know I don't believe in dreams, at least since Voldemort died. They're just as rubbish as Divinations."

"Would you just shut up and listen to me?" Harry snapped. Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Er, sorry. Please?"

She let out a great sigh. "Fine. But I'm not going to have anything to say."

Harry seriously doubted that; if it was true, it'd be a first. In broken whispers, speaking only when Dean was narrating, Harry told her his dream. "So, y'know, I was wondering if you ever saw anything that might make you suspect…" He trailed off as there was a break in the commentary as Draco debated his next move.

"Brilliant!" Dean yelled. "Simply brilliant! Malfoy's—"

Hermione looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, I suppose, looking back, there might have been…" She trailed off. "Harry, I really don't know. It wasn't as if you were muttering his name as you slept, or got a wistful, pining look on your face whenever he was brought up. You were focused on Ginny, and on the war. If there was something else going on, you certainly kept it to yourself."

"You said 'might have been'," Harry whispered, almost accusatorily. "What did you mean, 'might have been'?"

Hermione flushed. "I don't know! You were rather—obsessive about him sixth year," she replied. "Not that you didn't have reason to be, mind you," she added at his expression. "There may have been a stray look here or there that—Harry, I wish you'd stop looking at me like that. I don't know what I'm talking about."

Harry collapsed back onto the couch, tuning out Dean. This was not the answer he had been hoping for. He'd wanted a definite yes or no, not an infuriating collection of "maybe"s and "I don't know"s. He'd thought Hermione of all people would give him a straight answer; then again, she never said anything unless she was absolutely certain, so he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Does it really matter?" she asked. "You like him now, anyone can see that. Why is it so important?"

"You've got to promise not to tell Ron," Harry said, glancing at the person in question. But Ron's brows were knit in concentration, and there was no way he was listening to their conversation.

Hermione squirmed. "Harry, I hate—"

"You asked," he interrupted. "If you don't want to know, fine. But Ron wouldn't be able to let Draco live it down, and I won't have you giving him more ammunition."

Hermione bit her lip. "Alright," she said eventually. "I promise I won't tell Ron."

"Okay then," Harry said, and told her what Draco had said to him. Her eyes grew steadily wider until they were the size of dinner plates, hands covering her mouth.

"Harry," she squeaked. "Harry, I can't believe—"

"Not so loud!" Harry hissed, looking around again. He was fairly certain no one had heard.

"I'm just…just a little…" She finally lowered her hands, and Harry saw she was beaming.

"What're you so happy about?" he asked suspiciously.

"Harry, that is just about the most romantic thing I've ever heard!" she said excitedly. "I couldn't care less if it was—was—" She stammered, looking for the worst person she could think of. "Well, if it was Draco Malfoy!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I forgot you're a girl," he said, not particularly joking. "I wanted your advice, Hermione, not—" He was interrupted by a chorus of boos as Draco apparently captured Ron's queen.

"I haven't seen such a bloody death in all my years of commenting!" Dean boomed. "It's almost enough to make you feel bad—oh, but look now! Weasley's bishop to Rook seven! I never would have—"

"I should think it's obvious," Hermione snapped. "You like him and he likes you. What's the problem?" She paused. "And don't call me a girl like it's a bad thing."

Stated in such bald terms, Harry couldn't think of a comeback. "Er…So you don't think it changes things?"

"Well of _course_ it changes things," Hermione said as if he was stupid. "You've got seven years of history to work through, and this certainly sheds a new light on it. But really Harry, do you honestly think you're the only one who's been through this? I've fancied Ron since at least fourth year, and we didn't get together until a few months ago. Just give it time, everything will work out eventually.

"And it's a stalemate!" Dean thundered. "With the last of Weasley's pawns destroyed, all that remains are the two kings, rendering the game unwinnable!"

"Rematch," Ron snapped immediately, the chess pieces flying back to their original places.

"You're on," Draco said, and Harry thought he might even be having fun, at least a little. Ron was known as the school's best chess player and, if nothing else, Draco had forced him into a stalemate. Knowing his ego, that was enough to keep him going for another game at least. "Bloody hell you Gryffindors keep it hot in here," he said, moving to take off his turtleneck. "Down in the dungeons—"

Harry didn't hear the rest of what he said, panic flooding through him. If Draco took off his sweater, his Dark Mark would be visible for all to see. Harry took out his wand and pointed it surreptitiously at Draco, uttering the first spell that came to mind. It worked just in time, and Draco threw his jumper on the floor, a clear sign he was fully involved in the game.

"What happened to you?" Ron asked harshly, gesturing at his arm.

Draco glanced down. An Ace bandage encircled his left arm, covering the mark completely. "Sprained it playing Quidditch," he said easily. "It was Potter's fault; he nearly broke it, which Pomfrey would have at least been able to fix. Instead I'm stuck with this." Harry breathed a sigh of relief, tucking his wand away.

"Nice job," Hermione whispered.

"Thanks," Harry breathed. "He just doesn't _think_ sometimes."

Hermione giggled. "Neither does Ron. You should have seen him trying to get his potions homework done. He was hopeless."

Harry found it rather amusing Hermione was comparing homework to nearly flashing a Dark Mark to all of Gryffindor, but he wisely held his tongue. Instead, he enjoyed the sight of Draco in a tight black tank-top, and the surprising peace between Draco and Ron. Sure, they were yelling directions at their pieces louder than they needed to and yes, Dean was right, the deaths were rather more violent than usual, but all in all, it seemed to be a remarkable success.

"Hermione, you're a genius," Harry said admiringly. "This was a brilliant idea."

Hermione smiled smugly. "I thought so."

The second game lasted much longer, as both boys took significantly longer between each move, desperate to outplay the other. Eventually the crowd around the table dissipated, even Dean going off to do something else. Hermione summoned her well-worn copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and began absentmindedly flipping through it, and Harry took the opportunity to merely sit and let his mind go blank, staring mindlessly into the fire and finally relaxing.

"Mate," Ron said triumphantly, shouting at his rook hard enough it nearly shattered as it hit the table.

Draco scanned the board, furious. "Again."

Ron waved his wand, the board reset itself, and a new game commenced.

"Should've brought a book," Harry mumbled, thinking of all the locked doors between himself and his books, all the doors an _Accio_ spell couldn't get past.

"I can loan you one, if you'd like. I've just gotten the latest edition of _New Theory of Numerology_."

"Er, I'm fine," Harry said. "Blimey, I think this is the first time I've actually just sat in the common room all year."

Hermione smiled. "Good to have you back. And you really ought to read that book; Draco's in my Arithmancy class, and, as far as I can tell, he can use all the help he can get."

"I didn't sign up for that class for a reason, Hermione," Harry sighed. "I don't suppose you're making Ron help you with—with—whatever nonsense you're taking."

"I don't need any help," Hermione replied haughtily, and Harry was suddenly and strongly reminded of Draco.

Neville walked over, sitting on Harry's other side, causing the three friends to have to squish to fit on the small couch. "Hullo," he said rather glumly.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked immediately, marking her place and closing her book.

Neville sighed. "Rory's going to Hogsmeade with Justin Finch-Fletchley."

"I'm sure it's just because he's a Hufflepuff," Harry said. "They're going in a group, right?"

Neville shook his head mournfully. "I should've known she wouldn't see anything in me."

"Neville, don't be ridiculous," Hermione chastised. "Any girl would be lucky to go to Hogsmeade with you." She paused. "You did ask her, right? You didn't just expect her to read your mind?"

Neville blushed. "Er—"

"Neville," Hermione said firmly. "You can't just wait for things to happen _to_ you—you've got to go out and make them happen yourself."

Harry felt this was not a conversation he was needed for and stood up, going over to Draco and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "How's it going?" he asked.

Draco shook him off. "Go away, you're distracting me."

Harry glared at him. "You—"

"I said go away!" Draco snapped, sounding very much like his old self, the one Harry hated.

Harry stomped upstairs to his room, only mildly surprised that it didn't feel much like his anymore. He noticed that the pictures that currently resided in the Room of Requirement were absent, and a brief inspection of his dresser revealed it was empty as well. So the Room had…what? Fetched all his things for him? Didn't it usually just transfigure whatever it needed? Harry collapsed onto his bed, thinking this year was becoming far more confusion than he felt was fair.

Harry picked himself back up. There wasn't any reason for him to be in here anymore, not when all his things were in the Room of Requirement. He went back downstairs, saw Draco and Ron still playing, Hermione lecturing Neville, and before he even knew what was happening, he was being shoved into a corner by a very angry Ginny Weasley.

"You dumped me for _him_?" she hissed, pinning Harry against the wall. "For Draco bloody _Malfoy_?"

Harry knew he shouldn't be surprised, but he still didn't have a response ready. "Er—"

Ginny let out a shriek, attracting everyone's attention except for Draco and Ron, who were too busy with their game. "You couldn't have bothered to tell me you're gay?" she snapped. "Maybe, oh, I don't know, before you _stuck your hand up my shirt_?"

"I didn't know, I'm not—" Harry stammered. "It just sort of happened."

"Happened?" Ginny asked dangerously. "It _happened_? And when was it _happening_, Harry? Before or after you dumped me?"

"After, of course!" Harry snapped. "Don't be daft! I'd never cheat on you!"

"There were a lot of things I thought you'd never do," Ginny said, finally letting his shoulders go. "Now get out of our common room."

"This is my common room too!" Harry said indignantly

"Hardly!" Ginny screamed, tears starting to fall. "You've practically been living with Malfoy all year! Now get out!" Ron and Draco finally looked over, and Ron immediately rushed over to his sister.

"What'd you do to her?" he asked accusingly.

"Nothing!" Harry said. "I didn't—she just—"

"I think you'd better go," Ron said, wrapping an arm around Ginny and leading her away from Harry. Draco rose gracefully, following Harry as he left the common room in silence.

"I think Weasley might not want to kill me anymore," Draco said as they walked back to the Room of Requirement. "The boy-Weasley, I mean. The girl one seems out for my blood."

Harry glared at him. "Glad to see you're taking this so seriously."

"What do you expect me to do?" Draco snapped. "Apologize to the Weasleyette for stealing you away from her? I think not!"

"You just don't get it," Harry replied angrily.

"I'd say I'm doing a remarkable job of 'getting it'," Draco said. "I sit with you at the Gryffindor table, I wear your robes, I come to your common room to play chess with your best friend. I hardly see you doing any of those things for me."

"Those—those were bets!" Harry stammered. "At least some of them! And I offered to sit with you, remember? You told me it wouldn't be wise, if I recall."

"Well maybe it is time to introduce you to Pansy and Blaise."

"Have you even spoken to them since the war?"

Draco's eyes darkened. "Of course I have," he spat. He stopped walking, and grabbed Harry's arm. "Bloody hell, I left my jumper in the common room. Come on." He turned on his heel and started walking back, despite Harry's protests.

"Back again, I see," the Fat Lady said. "Know the password this time?"

"No," Harry snapped. He reeled off the list of candies again and was eventually let in. "You'd better wait out here," he said to Draco, climbing through the portrait hole."

"I'll not have Gryffindors thinking I'm afraid of them," Draco said, following. He grabbed his jumper and had almost made it out when a shrill voice uttered,

"_Pungerio_!"

Harry saw Draco's face contort in pain, but he didn't make a single noise. "Come, Harry," he said, voice light. "I believe we've outstayed our welcome."

"_Ginny!"_ Harry heard Neville gasp as they climbed out the portrait hole. "Twenty points from Gryffindor! You can just go around cursing—"

He was cut off as the portrait slammed shut. As soon as it was closed, Harry grabbed Draco's wrist, holding him in place. "What was that? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Potter," he said, though Harry could have sworn he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Let's just get back to our room, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," Harry said, not believing him at all, but pleased that Draco had called it _their _room. Harry hadn't even told him about how the Room had taken his things, and yet Draco was already this possessive about it. They passed in front of the wall quickly, and Harry saw the room was much as they had left it, except the couch and bedclothes had changed back to Slytherin colors. Draco carefully lowered himself onto the couch, sitting on the very edge, and Harry sat at his side, taking his hands.

"Draco, tell me what that curse did," he said sternly, trying to sound like Hermione at her most dangerous but coming out far less commanding than he'd like.

"I'm fine, I told you," Draco said. He raised his wand. "_Accio _potion stash!"

"What is that, your stores from the changing room?"

Draco nodded. "I think I'm going to need your help with the gel," he said, slowly peeling off his tank top.

Harry gasped. Draco looked as if he had been whipped; a red, angry line slashed across his back, a few rivulets of blood flowing weakly. Harry reached out to brush his fingers across it and Draco jerked away.

"Don't bloody _touch_ it," Draco snapped. "It was a stinging curse, that's all. A powerful one, yes, but nothing I can't handle." The wooden box flew threw the window, landing neatly in Draco's lap. He took out the jar of purple jelly and handed it to Harry. "Rub this on it, would you?"

Harry did as he was asked, trying to be as gentle as possible, wincing every time Draco jerked away from his fingers. "Do you want me to go slower?" he asked.

"Just finish it," Draco said through clenched teeth.

Harry did the rest as quickly as he could, making sure to put extra gel on the spots that were bleeding. Eventually the task was finished, and he watched as the wound started to knit itself together, the red returning to Draco's alabaster coloring, the welt sinking back into his skin. Draco let out a shuddering sigh.

"That's much better," he said, leaning back. "The Weasleyette packs quite a punch, doesn't she? You could have warned me."

"I didn't know she'd be so upset," Harry replied.

"Then you are really quite daft, Harry," Draco replied. "A woman scorned is not one to be trifled with. _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_, remember?"

Harry smiled a little. "Yeah. Still, I never would've thought she'd curse you like that."

"Harry, I'm going to tell you something, and you have to promise never to repeat it to anyone, under any circumstances."

Harry tensed. "Yeah, of course. What?"

"Thank heavens Longbottom's Head Boy," he said, and Harry burst into laughter. "Even if he let the Weasleyette off with a slap to the wrist, at least she didn't get off scot-free. Harry, why are you laughing?"

"You—Neville—" he gasped out. "Draco, you're unbelievable! I thought you were going to tell me some deep, dark secret, and it was just about Neville!"

Draco scowled at him. "I'll have you know that _is_ a deep, dark secret. Imagine if it got out that I approve of Longbottom's position. It would be humiliating."

Harry forced himself to stop laughing. "Right, of course. Very serious indeed."

Draco's scowl deepened. "It's not very nice of you to make fun of me while I'm injured."

"How's your back, then? Let me see." Draco obediently leaned forward and Harry ran his fingers over the place where he had been cursed. "There's nothing here anymore," he said. "You're fine. Ginny's never been very good at hexing, especially when she's upset."

"Still, I wouldn't want to give her another chance," Draco said, settling back against the pillows. "At least not without my wand."

"You two will _not_ duel," Harry said, again striving to sound authoritative. "I don't care how angry she is with me, she's still Ginny, and you _will not_ put her in the infirmary."

Draco smirked. "She wouldn't have a chance against me."

"No, she wouldn't," Harry said, more to stroke his ego than anything else. "How was chess with Ron, by the way? I caught the first stalemate, but after that…"

"He beat me," Draco spat out. "The second game. And we had only just started the third when Weasleyette threw her little tantrum. But it's not over, mark my words. I shall beat Weasley at chess if it kills me."

Harry smiled to himself, and leaned into Draco's arms. "Say that all you want, it'll never happen."

"Thanks for the support, Harry," Draco said, trying for scorn. "Some boyfriend you are." But he tucked an arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him closer, and Harry was delightfully aware Draco wasn't wearing a shirt.

"I believe I said something about owing you for playing Ron," Harry said, trying and, he was fairly certain, failing at sounding seductive.

Draco smirked. "Yes, I do believe you said something along those lines."

"Care to partake?" Harry asked. "Or would you rather save it for later?"

"Now sounds good, seeing as I'm hexed and all."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're so dramatic," he said, though he lowered his hands and began to slowly unbutton Draco's slacks. Draco's eyes slipped shut, and his grip on Harry's shoulders tightened.

"It _hurt_," Draco whined as Harry unzipped him. "I was _bleeding—oh_," he sighed as Harry slid a hand into his boxers.

"Barely," Harry replied, taking a surprised delight in forcing Draco into conversation as he pleasured him. "I've already been injured worse than that twice this year, and it's only first week."

"_Stung_," Draco gasped as Harry's hand wrapped around him. "_Stinging _curse, not a bloody hit to the face."

"Yes, I'm sure it hurt _much_ more than a concussion, or a broken nose," Harry said, stroking him slowly but firmly. "It was only from Ginny, Draco. Are you really ready to admit that a seventh year incapacitated you?" Draco was gnawing on his lip, thrusting into Harry's hand, eyes closed. Harry stilled his hand, and Draco whimpered. "Well?"

"No, alright, fine, whatever you say," Draco moaned, desperate for the friction to return. "Don't stop."

Harry couldn't suppress a grin. Torturing Draco like this really was entirely too enjoyable. "Don't stop what?"

Draco groaned. "Harry…"

"Tell me, or I won't do it," Harry said, making as if to remove his hand. Draco's fingers clenched down on his wrist, firmly holding his hand in place. "And saying please couldn't hurt, either."

Flushing with embarrassment, Draco said, "Don't stop moving your hand like that. _Please_."

"Very good," Harry said softly, resuming his motions. Draco was making the most delicious sounds, and his body was shuddering underneath him so delightfully, Harry's thoughts strayed to the thought of sex, for the first time seriously contemplating it. He knew where all the parts went, of course, but he wasn't at all sure how to go about it. There were so many questions. Did Draco have lube, or should he pick some up at that blasted store he was being made to go to? Who was to top? Would—

"Harry," Draco whined, bringing his attention back to what was at hand. "Please don't slow down, please."

Draco's earlier words, of all the things he had done, rang through Harry's head. He was so willing to beg, to say please, Harry couldn't help but wonder what else Draco had been made to do. Pushing the thoughts aside, he sped up, doing that thing Draco liked, and a moment later it was done, Draco gasping and shaking in his arms, Harry magicking the mess away and settling against Draco's chest. He could hear every labored breath, feel every tingle that shot through his body, and he found the sensation addicting.

"You—" Draco said as his breathing slowed. "I think I was arguing with you, and I'm pretty sure I was right."

"Shut up," Harry said mildly, still feeling rather commanding. Draco, apparently still feeling submissive, did as Harry said.


	18. Chapter 18: A visit to Hagrid's

**A/N: **I suggest you go into this chapter keeping in mind Draco's got something Big and Mysterious and Difficult going on, ready to cut him a bit of slack. It'll all work out, I promise.

For those of you who enjoy the sexy bits, you are going to _fall apart_ at chapter twenty-four. And, for the more plot-oriented of you, that'll be chapter twenty-three, and twenty, and no doubt some others I'm missing. Finally, for those inclined towards humor, you're in luck, because that's up next, in chapter nineteen.

Anyways. I'll stop teasing y'all now. Enjoy!

**Chapter Eighteen:**

_**A visit to Hagrid's.**_

Draco, feeling much more like himself in Slytherin colors, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table for breakfast without a single word on the subject. In fact, he was the one to strike up a conversation.

"Ronald Weasley," he drawled. "I daresay if you continue to eat like that, you'll rival the Fat Lady soon enough." Harry shoved an elbow into Draco's side as Ron attempted to defend himself around a mouthful of pancakes. "Regardless of your adiposian figure, I have a score to settle with you on the chessboard."

Ron choked down his mouthful. "Any time, any place," he said. "You'll never beat me, not in a million years."

"Ron," Harry said, interrupting before they could escalate. "You and I are good, yeah? About the Ginny thing?"

"Yeah, course," Ron said. "I couldn't just leave her in the common room last night, and I might've had to stay mad at you for another day or two out of respect, but I figure the curse makes you two even."

There was an awkward moment of silence. Ron clearly wanted to ask Draco what the curse had done, but doing so would involve portraying an interest in his life, which he was not willing to do. Draco was dying to play the wounded innocent, but he was neither injured nor ready to admit Ginny had caused him considerable pain. Harry and Hermione exchanged an amused look; all in all, this was on par with sudden global peace.

"Stinging curse?" Ron choked out despite himself.

"Hardly," Draco replied. "I could scarcely feel a thing. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Er, yeah, it barely grazed him," Harry said dutifully.

"Harry, I _saw_ it—"

"Don't forget about Care of Magical Creatures," Hermione interrupted. "I've got a private lesson with Professor McGonagall, but you two have it after lunch."

"Yeah, where has Hagrid been?" Ron asked. "Haven't seen him at all this year."

A quick look at the staff table revealed that Hagrid was indeed missing. "Blimey, I hadn't even noticed," Harry said guiltily. Had he really been that self-absorbed, that he hadn't noticed his friend missing?

"I can't imagine how you wouldn't notice he wasn't here," Draco said. "His presence alone accounts for half the size of the school."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry and Ron said simultaneously.

"He's been off doing Ministry business," Hermione said, ignoring the comment completely. "But he'll be back in time for class. Honestly, do you two ever pay attention to the announcements?"

Harry was saved answering by the arrival of the post. He caught himself looking for Hedwig, then turned back to his plate, stabbing angrily at the eggs. He really ought to get a new owl, this was getting ridiculous.

"Draco, I wouldn't open that if I were you."

Harry looked up. An envelope was sitting on Draco's toast, visibly smoking. Hermione was looking at it nervously, while Draco seemed utterly unperturbed.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he said loftily, though he did open it with his wand, rather than touching it. A jet of flame shot out, narrowly missing him, and drawing the attention of the entire school.

"You call that nothing?" Harry asked, a wave of protectiveness washing over him. "What if you'd been leaning closer?"

"I wasn't, Potter, now was I?" Draco replied.

"Look, it's got a note on it," Ron said, reaching out and grabbing it before Hermione could stop him. "_From your friends at the Slytherin table._"

"Ron, you idiot!" Hermione snapped. "What if the paper had been cursed, then where would you be?"

"The infirmary, no doubt," Ron said, tossing the note back at Draco. "I'm fine, 'Mione," he added, holding his hands up for inspection. "See?"

"You should probably stop sitting over here," Harry said quietly, leaving Hermione to fuss over Ron.

"Nonsense," Draco replied. "I shall sit wherever I please. Oh, look," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "Mother's sent me a package."

A huge, majestic eagle swooped over, landing gracefully next to Draco's plate. He untied the package, then stroked the bird, who cooed quietly. "Good job, Carus. I've missed you." The eagle nipped his finger affectionately and took off, letting out a screech that silenced the Great Hall for the second time.

"I don't know what you Gryffindors are doing over there," McGonagall said sternly before the silence dissipated, "but I'd ask you kindly to stop."

Draco unwrapped the package, and a look of genuine delight flew across his face. "Pumpkin muffins!" he exclaimed. "Mother makes the best pumpkin muffins."

Ron was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Your mother…bakes?"

"Sod off, Weasley," Draco said absentmindedly, removing one from the box and taking a bite. His eyes closed, and he let out a sound of delight. "Here, Harry, try one."

Harry had to admit they were delicious, rivaling even Mrs. Weasley's cooking. Draco didn't bother offering any to Ron or Hermione so Harry did it for him, earning himself a look of disdain.

"Thank you," Hermione said, taking one for herself. "Ron, these really are wonderful. You ought to have one."

Ron was still staring at the box as if it, too, might start bursting flames. "No," he said firmly. "I'll stick to my own mum's baked goods, thank you very much."

"There's a note," Harry said through a mouthful of muffin.

Draco took it out and quickly scanned it, face hardening. "Nothing important," he said, setting fire to the parchment before Harry could read it.

McGonagall's voice rang through the Hall once more. "If I see any more flames from Gryffindor table, there'll be detention for the entire house!"

"Come on," Hermione said, gathering her things. "Class is about to start, we should get going."

Draco muttered a spell and the package rewrapped itself and flew out of the Hall, presumably to the Room of Requirement. The four of them walked down to the dungeons, Hermione muttering nervously about her potion the whole time. They sat down and Draco produced a flask of the potion he and Harry had made. Hermione practically snatched it out of his hands, holding it up to her own, muttering about how Draco's was a shade darker and the tiniest bit thinner than hers, though Harry couldn't see a difference at all.

"Give that back," Draco snapped. He poured the flask into his cauldron, somehow managing to it from the single flask, and with a bit left over. "Harry, stop gaping. It's embarrassing that you still don't understand how magic works."

Harry glared at him. "Could you go two minutes without insulting anyone?"

"Why, Harry," Draco said, eyes wide with contrived hurt. "I'd say I behaved admirably at breakfast. I was positively _delightful_." Then he shoved the stirrer into Harry's hands. "Here, stir it, just a bit, and clockwise, don't forget."

Rolling his eyes Harry did as he was instructed, and he was still stirring when Slughorn arrived and began examining potions. He declared Ron and Hermione's to be "quite good", which calmed Hermione considerably.

"Stop stirring," Draco said under his breath as Slughorn moved to their table.

"Why boys, I do believe this potion is perfect! May I have a sip? I've been fighting off a cold all week, and I should think this will do the trick!"

"Of course you may," Draco said, retrieving the flask. "I saved this just for you."

"Very good, Draco," Slughorn said with a smile Harry had to force himself to not roll his eyes at. Slughorn swallowed the elixir, carefully drinking every last drop. "Absolutely perfect!" he declared. "Cleared my sinuses right up! And Harry, excellent decision to hand-stir. Granger and Weasley's would have been up to your standards had they thought of taking the extra time to do it without magic. Ten points to Gryffindor for going the extra mile!"

Hermione flushed furiously and Harry stared at Draco as Slughorn moved on. "You knew he wanted it hand-stirred," he said. "And you made sure he saw me doing it, when you could've taken all the credit."

Draco smirked. "What, I'm not allowed to do something nice for my boyfriend?"

"I just—you—never mind," Harry said, opening his potions book. "Thanks."

Draco quickly squeezed his hand before retrieving his own book. "I won't hear another word on the subject."

The rest of potions proceeded as usual, punctuated by Hermione's attempts to surreptitiously see what Draco was doing, and Draco steadfastly ignoring her. Muggle Studies was dull as always, and lunch began remarkably peacefully, given that Draco yet again joined them at the Gryffindor table. This time Harry didn't even have to ask him; in fact, he was already sitting with Ron, Hermione and Neville when Draco appeared, sitting next to him as if there wasn't a reason in the world not to. Neville, who was still rather glum, even said hello without any trace of surprise or distrust in his voice.

"He's pining," Ron said.

"Am not," Neville said morosely. "Gran sent me a thesaurus the other day. It's more of a yearning than a pining."

Hermione patted his hand sympathetically. "You've got nothing to worry about, Neville," she said soothingly. "Justin's got nothing on you."

Neville sighed dejectedly. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Of course I'm not," Hermione said, though the way she didn't quite make eye contact was not lost on Harry.

"Merlin's beard, this is ridiculous," Draco said huffily, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. "What's her name again? Audra?"

"Aurora," Neville replied before anyone could stop him.

"Draco, what're you—"

"Stopping his incessant whining," Draco snapped, interrupting Harry's nervous question. His quill flew across the paper and, before anyone could stop him, he took out his wand and directed it over to the Hufflepuff table. "The one with dark, curly hair, right?"

Neville nodded, too lost in his thoughts to recognize the potential danger of the situation.

"Alright then." The parchment fluttered into Aurora's lap and she quickly looked over at Neville before unfolding it.

"What did you say?" Hermione demanded.

"Oh, nothing," Draco said mischievously. "Just my way of thanking Longbottom for docking points from Gryffindor last night."

"Can't imagine anything could make it worse," Neville sighed.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were all looking nervously at Aurora, who was beginning to flush. Neville still had his eyes on his uneaten lunch, and didn't see her scrawling a note back and sending it across the room before it landed directly in front of him.

"Well?" Hermione burst out when Neville didn't immediately say anything. "What did she say? What did _you_ say, for that matter?"

Neville suddenly blushed. "Er, seems I'm taking her out to dinner at Hogsmeade," he said, sounding rather awed. "At Intrépide. Blimey, I dunno if I can afford…"

"Of course you can," Hermione interrupted. "That's the most romantic restaurant in all of Hogsmeade, Neville! You _must_ know what this means."

"Maybe she's just being nice to me," Neville said, though his flush hadn't gone away.

"You're being ridiculous, mate," Harry said, clapping him on the back. "You've got a _date_. It's alright to be excited."

Ron, however, was completely disregarding Neville, staring open-mouthed at Draco. "Did—did you just do something _nice_ for someone?"

"No, of course not," Draco said crossly. "I told you, I just wanted to get him to shut up. I find complaining dreadfully boring."

Hermione was practically bursting with excitement. "Neville! Why aren't you more excited?"

"I've never been on a date before," he said nervously. "Not a proper one, I mean. I'll say the wrong thing, I just know I will."

The rest of lunch was filled with encouraging words from everyone except Draco, who merely ate in silence. When they separated for class, Harry and Ron had to physically direct Neville to Hagrid's hut, guiding him around obstacles he would have otherwise tripped over, and keeping him going in the right direction.

"Harry! Ron! There yeh are!" Hagrid boomed and before they knew it, the two of them, and Neville, who was still standing between them, got swept into a giant hug. "How've yeh been?" Hagrid asked, setting them back down. "Oh, hello Neville, didn't see yeh there. So, tell me everything I've missed," he said. "How's that new professor, Whisp? She seemed a little apprehensive of me at lunch, can't imagine why." He elbowed Ron, nearly knocking him over. "Heard you and Hermione finally got together. Good for yeh! Any other budding relationships I might want to know about?"

Harry and Neville both flushed. "Later," Harry said, eyeing the growing collection of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.

"Right, o' course." Hagrid turned to address the crowd. "For those of yeh who don't know, I'm Hagrid, and I'll be teachin' yeh Care o' Magical Creatures this year. Due to certain, ah—" he cleared his throat, "—past issues, we'll be stickin' to the more dull—er, common, magical creatures." He lifted the cloth off of a cage containing a thin, greenish-black bird that looked as glum as Neville had. "Can anyone tell me what this is?"

A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand. "It's an Augurey," she said. "My grandmother had one until grandfather died, and she got rid of it."

Hagrid laughed heartily. "A well-known myth about Augureys is that they only sing when someone's about to die. Nonsense, o' course. An Augurey predicts rain, not death. Your grandmother would've been wise to keep it as a forecaster." The Ravenclaw flushed. "Anyways, Augureys are exceptionally shy creatures, so I'll have you approach it in ones and twos. There's a bucket o' insects here, if yeh'd like to feed it. Come up, come up, it's not gonna hurt yeh. It's more afraid of you than you are o' it."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. Hagrid had a long history of saying such things, but it did seem that, in this case, he was right. The Augurey flinched away from touch, though it did accept a bug or two from several particularly patient Ravenclaws. By the time Harry and Ron approached it, it seemed to have resigned itself to being touched, and allowed both boys to pet it.

"See?" Hagrid said. "Nothin' scary at all!"

Harry took an oversized cricket out of the bucket and offered it to the bird. The Augurey sniffed it, seemed about to take it, then let out a low, mournful cry. Harry and Ron jumped back, looking guilty.

"Nothin' to worry about," Hagrid said jovially. "Just means it's gonna rain soon."

Harry looked up at the cloudless sky. "Er, right." He dropped the bug back into the bucket and retreated, Ron at his side.

"Seems Hagrid's calmed down some," Ron said quietly. "We've been here almost a half hour, and nothing's tried to kill us yet."

"Wonder what the Ministry business was," Harry said. "Don't suppose he's gotten himself in trouble again?"

"Well, we're due for a visit," Ron said. "Seeing as _some_ of us have some _explaining_ to do. We can ask him then."

"Er, yeah," Harry said, not looking forward to telling Hagrid about his new relationship.

Neville joined them again, an awed look on his face. "Guys, I think I have a date this weekend."

Ron grinned. "Finally caught on, have you?"

The rest of the week did not proceed nearly as well as Monday. Due to Hermione's schedule they didn't have time to visit Hagrid until Friday night, by which time Harry would have used any excuse to be out of Draco's presence. He had been getting steadily more and more difficult as the week progressed, turning down Quidditch matches, moving back and forth between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables in the middle of meals, even nearly exploding a potion in class. Harry had tried to talk about it, but every time he brought it up Draco got angrier and angrier, ending in an all-out shouting match in the middle of the front hall. Draco had apologized later that night, but while he sounded sincere enough, he still wouldn't say what was on his mind. The only time Harry felt he could relax around him was at night, in bed, when they were cuddling. If anything, Draco was even more affectionate, though all attention remained above the waist.

Currently, Harry was sitting on the windowsill that had appeared Wednesday, looking out at the rain that had been falling steadily since Monday night, dreading the walk down to Hagrid's. He thought about asking Draco to teach him the spell he had used by the lake, but he was surrounded by number charts and was not looking particularly generous.

"I'm going to see Hagrid," Harry said eventually. "I assume you don't want to come?"

"Visit that oaf in my spare time? I can't imagine anything further below me."

"Go ahead, Malfoy, insult Hagrid, see where it gets you," Harry retorted, pulling on his cloak.

"Think you can best me in a duel, Potter?" he replied angrily, still not looking up from his papers.

"In case you've forgotten, _I_ bested _you _sixth year," Harry said, hand on the doorknob. "Want to be scarred again, Malfoy?"

"Get the bloody hell out of here!" Draco yelled, throwing an inkpot that narrowly missed Harry's head. Harry left, slamming the door.

"What's with you?" Ron asked as Harry joined him and Hermione in the front hall.

"Nothing," Harry snapped. "Draco's a prat. Come on, let's go."

The walk was just as miserable as Harry had imagined, and the few seconds it took Hagrid to open his door felt like a lifetime. They were greeted enthusiastically by both Hagrid and Fang, who nearly knocked Harry over. Still upset over his fight with Draco, he pushed the dog over to Ron, hung up his cloak, and collapsed in front of the fireplace, brooding angrily. Fang was delighted at having someone else on the floor, and curled himself around Harry, depositing his head in his lap, covering Harry's pants with drool.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry muttered under his breath. But Fang looked up at him with such adoring eyes, and Harry felt his anger melting away. He petted the giant dog, making sure to get the spots behind his ear he knew he liked.

"What's with Harry?" he heard Hagrid ask Ron and Hermione.

"Dunno, he wouldn't tell us." Harry heard the familiar creek of Hagrid's couch as Ron and Hermione sat down. "Probably something with Malfoy; the two have been going at it all week."

"Aye, some things never change," Hagrid said, completely unaware of the awkward silence he caused. "Anyone for some tea? An' I think I've got some treacle 'round here somewhere."

A few minutes later everyone was settled with large, steaming mugs of tea and a lack of treacle attributed to having just eaten. Harry found he couldn't stay angry, not with Fang on his lap, the sound of the rain beating down on the roof, and, most importantly, being back in a familiar place with his closest friends, Draco nowhere to be seen.

"So Hagrid, what does the Ministry have you doing this time?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, yeh know, the usual. Tryin' to get the giants to sign a peace treaty. I keep telling 'em, it's not gonna happen, but does anyone listen to me? Course not." Hagrid sounded rather good-natured, despite his words. "Not that I mind, not entirely. Certainly don't mind keepin' an eye on Grawp an' all, makin' sure he's stayin' out of trouble." Hagrid took a sip of his tea. "What about you three? Tearin' the school apart, I imagine."

"No, not exactly," Hermione replied carefully. "Actually, Harry's been working on relations with the Slytherins."

"Oh, have yeh, Harry? Good for you! Puttin' your differences behind yeh." Harry felt Hermione's statement was entirely unwarranted, and didn't know how to respond to Hagrid's at all. Somehow, blurting out "I'm dating Draco Malfoy, by the way" did not seem the way to go about it. But Hagrid, as unmindful as he sometimes seemed, cut neatly to the point of the matter, whether on purpose or by accident Harry didn't know. "Still seein' Ginny Weasley, are yeh?"

"Er, no," Harry said, blowing on his tea. "I've got, uh, someone else."

"Really now?" Hagrid asked, and Harry was suddenly sure Hagrid knew exactly what was going on. It would hardly be surprising; it seemed all the school could talk about was his relationship with Draco. "An' whose the lucky girl?"

"Er—" Harry stammered. Maybe he had been wrong. "It's, uh—"

"Draco Malfoy," Ron interrupted helpfully.

"I see," Hagrid said cryptically. "He treatin' you well, Harry?"

"Um, yeah, of course," Harry said, squirming a little. "Mostly."

"Mostly, eh?" Hagrid mused. "Well, you tell 'im that if he ever does anythin' to you, he's got me to answer to."

Harry finally looked away from the fire to look at Hagrid. "You—you don't mind?" he asked. "Not even after he almost got you fired third year?"

Hagrid waved his arm. "Let bygones be bygones, that's what I always say. You really think I'd be workin' for the Ministry if I couldn't forgive an idiot every now and then?"

Harry turned back to the fireplace. That had gone remarkably well. He had been half convinced that Hagrid would storm up to the castle and throw Draco to the centaurs. He zoned out pleasantly, feeling more relaxed than he had all week. This was far from the first time he had noticed it this year, but being back with his old friends in their old hangouts was remarkably restorative. Even if Draco hadn't been being so difficult, Harry thought it would be a welcome change.

The peace was broken what seemed like mere minutes later by an insistent, recognizable tapping on the window.

Harry sighed. "I'll get it," he said, lifting Fang's heavy head off his lap and attempting to wipe some of the drool off. "That'll be for me." He opened the window and Capry flew in, flinging drops of water in all directions. Fang started barking, and Hagrid began yelling about not getting water all over everything. Instant peace turned into instant chaos, courtesy of Draco Malfoy. Harry was not surprised.

"Capry!" he yelled, facing the bird in question, who was flying in circles around Hagrid's head. "Stop that! Get over here!" Much to his surprise, Capry did as he was asked, perching on Harry's arm. "Much better," he said. "Stay still." Hagrid tossed him an old tea towel and he dried the owl as best he could, Capry fidgeting under his attentions. Harry sat back in front of the fireplace and Capry hopped onto his lap, causing Fang to growl angrily at him.

"Fang, heel," Hagrid said. The dog let out one last bark before going to sit next to Hagrid. "Now who's that bird from?" Hagrid asked.

"Draco," Harry replied, untying the soggy note and waving it in front of the fireplace.

"Malfoy's got _that_ thing?" Hagrid asked, surprised. "I would've pictured a grand, majestic bird, not…"

"That'd be his mum's eagle," Harry replied, unfolding the soaked note.

_When are you getting home?_

That was it. No apology, nothing to indicate he was in a better mood, or even that he had finished his Arithmancy homework and wasn't busy anymore. Harry crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fireplace; the parchment was far too wet to write on, so there wasn't any point in holding onto it. He realized his actions might seem a bit drastic to his friends, but he chose not to elaborate.

"Anyone got a fresh parchment?" he asked, and Hermione handed him one, as well as a quill.

"It's got water-repellant ink," she said helpfully.

"Thanks."

_Why, so you can yell at me and insult my friends some more? I was thinking of staying in Gryffindor tower tonight. What's it to you?_

He tied the note to Capry's leg and sent him back out in the rain. Conversation had stopped, and Harry realized he was expected to say something.

"Sorry for all the water, Hagrid," he said.

"Not to worry," Hagrid replied. "Fang seems to be enjoyin' himself jus' fine." The giant dog was already lapping up the larger puddles.

Apparently that was not what they were looking for. Harry sighed. "Look, Draco's just being a dolt, like always. Why is this suddenly news?"

"He hasn't been, Harry," Hermione said. "At least not to you. What's going on?"

"How should I know?" Harry said rather angrily. "It's not like he talks to me or anything. There's some great, big, mysterious _thing_ happening this weekend that's got him all worked up, and he won't bloody _tell me_ what's _going on_."

"Do—do you think it has something to do with his father?" Hermione asked quietly. "Azkaban trials have been going on for months now, and maybe he has to testify, or…" She left the rest of her sentence unsaid.

"He would've told me if his dad was on trial," Harry said nervously, wondering if that was true.

"Okay," Hermione said gently. "It was just a thought. I'm sure it's got nothing to do with the trials."

"The weekend's almost over, right?" Ron said. "I mean, it hasn't begun yet, but once it has, it's only two days."

Harry couldn't suppress a small smile. "Yeah, right. It'll be fine."

"Right," Hermione said nervously.

"Right," Ron echoed, sounding much more confident.

"An' you can always come visit me if yeh need to," Hagrid offered. "My door's always open."

Harry's smile widened. "Thanks, guys."

The tapping on the window resumed just as Harry was starting to feel better. He groaned, this time picking up the tea towel in advance and wrapping Capry in it before he could even get in the window. There were a lot of indignant hoots and scrambles to escape, but Harry kept a firm grip on him until he sat back down and properly dried the bird.

"It's Draco's fault," he said to Capry. "If he wouldn't keep sending you out in the rain, I wouldn't need to manhandle you like this." Capry did not reply, but he did stand still long enough for Harry to untie yet another soaking wet note from his leg before flying off to explore the cabin.

_I will personally destroy the entirety of Gryffindor Tower if you are not in my bed tonight. Get back here._

Harry was almost willing to forgive the rudeness seeing as how he was pleasantly flushed at the possessiveness, but only almost.

"Hermione—"

"Here you go," she said, handing him another piece of parchment before he even had a chance to ask.

"Thanks," he said again.

_I'm told you, I'm at Hagrid's. I'll be back later._

Harry looked up for the bird, found him perched on Hagrid's cupboards. "Capry," he called, and the owl immediately flew over to him.

"It's well trained, I'll give it that much," Hagrid said as Harry sent him out the window again.

"Yeah, nearly knocked Harry down the stairs the first time we met him," Ron said.

"Plus he all but demolished our curtains," Hermione said.

"And got water all over your hut," Ron added.

"Leave it alone," Harry said mildly. He had become rather fond of the owl, as hyperactive as it was. "He's not any worse than Pig."

Ron did not have a reply to that, and they sat in silence waiting for the owl to return.

Again, Harry made clever use of the tea towel when Capry arrived, and before he even unfolded the note, he saw it was covered in ink blotches.

_Get back here, Harry James Potter, or I swear to god_

Here the note cut off in a giant inkblot. Then, below:

_Please?_

Harry again tossed the note into the fireplace and called Capry to him. If the use of the word please wasn't a cry for help, he didn't know what would be. "I've gotta go," he said, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. "I'll see you guys later, yeah?"

"Hogsmeade at ten, don't forget," Hermione said.

"Course," Harry said as if he wasn't dreading spending the day alone with Ron and Hermione, who had practically stated they were treating it as a date. He didn't even have Neville's company to fall back on, not now that he was taking Aurora out for dinner. "See you then."


	19. Chapter 19: He chose vanilla flavored

**A/N:** First off, a brief warning: generally, each chapter goes through the editing process three times: once right after I write it, once with my mom, who's an incredible editor, and one last time right before I put it up, just in case anything was missed. There's always something that got missed. Always. But today I'm sick (I just got out of bed and it's 4:30) and I just don't have the energy to go over it again. So if there are more stupid little mistakes or awkward sentences than usual, I beg forgiveness and understanding.

Also, **WARNING:** for language. Only once, but it's some very not nice words.

And finally, the Big Mystery shall be revealed next chapter! It's horrible timing, I know, but I have a memorial service tomorrow and if I'm feeling better, I'm going to be there, and I won't be able to publish until very late, if at all. At this rate, though, me and my germs are not welcome, so it'll go up around the same as usual.

**Chapter Nineteen:**

_**He decided on vanilla flavored, because it smelled like Draco's soap.**_

Harry's good mood was gone by the time he reached the castle. The rain was freezing, soaking through his cloak and making his clothes stick to his skin. Capry took off as soon as they left the cabin, leaving Harry to stew by himself. As soon as he got inside the front doors he shook his cloak off, creating a giant puddle of water on the floor. Harry's head jerked up as he heard a mewing and saw Mrs. Norris winding her way towards him, eyeing him disdainfully, calling out for Filch.

"Shut it, would you?" Harry snapped, taking the stairs two at a time, hoping desperately to avoid her owner. Thankfully did escaped in time, though the running had left him winded as well as shivering from the cold, and when he opened the door to the Room of Requirement, even just the sight of a warm, dry Draco was enough to put him in a foul mood.

"Why'd you take so long?" Draco snapped.

Harry let his sopping wet cloak fall to the floor and began stripping angrily. "I left as soon as you asked me to," he replied, throwing his wet shirt at Draco, who swatted it aside angrily. "Not that you did ask, mind you. But the please was enough to realize how desperate you must be."

Draco eyed Harry distrustfully, rendering Harry extremely uncomfortable as he continued to peel his wet clothes off. "You didn't have to go to see that—_Hagrid_—in the first place," he said, visibly preventing himself from calling him names.

"He's my friend, Draco," Harry replied, gathering his clothes and throwing them into the hamper. He now stood only in his boxers, debating the ease of pajamas versus the warmth of a shower. "Not that you'd know what that means. Besides, you practically kicked me out, throwing that ink at me."

"You were—" Draco stumbled over his words. "You were _ignoring _me!"

"How have I been ignoring you?" Harry practically yelled. "You've spent the whole week ignoring _me_, distancing yourself, being an arse, and for what, some weekend excursion you won't even tell me about? I came back to you, I left Hagrid's early, I didn't go to Gryffindor tower, I'm here. Can't you just tell me what's been going on?"

Draco's eyes flicked to the mantle, and Harry saw a new picture had appeared, one of Draco's parents. Lucius looked proud and distant as always, but Narcissa was smiling and waving at her son. "I can't," he said, sounding pained. "I'll tell you when I get back, I promise."

"So what do you want me to do until then?" Harry asked angrily. "Sit next to you while you badmouth me and all my friends?"

"No!" Draco snapped. "I just—Merlin, I hate you."

Harry ground his teeth together. "Fuck off, Draco." He stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door, causing the shower to turn on. Harry shimmied out of his boxers, stepped under the water and let out a pent-up sigh. The hot water felt brilliant against his frozen skin, and the pounding of the water worked to release the knots in his shoulders. He ran his hands through his hair thoroughly saturating it with the heated water. At this moment, this very moment, Harry couldn't think of a single reason why he was dating Draco Malfoy.

The door creaked open.

"Draco, get out," Harry said, not opening his eyes. "I'm literally washing my anger away."

The door closed, and Harry assumed he left. Then: "I promise I won't say anything."

Harry opened his eyes, wiping water out of them. "What do you want?" Draco suddenly looked small, haggardly thin, and incredibly nervous. Harry sighed. "Draco, what is it?"

"I don't want to be alone," Draco said, so quietly Harry could hardly hear him over the pounding of the water.

Harry was incredibly confused, and still angry. But, for the moment, he shoved his feelings aside, and said, "Alright, fine. You can stay. And don't be ridiculous, you can talk as much as you want."

"Thank you," Draco said quietly. "Can—can I join you under the shower, or would you rather I stay over here?" Harry stepped out from under the water and hugged Draco, who immediately tried to pull away. "Hey! What are you—you're soaking wet! I'm still clothed!"

"You looked like you could use a hug," Harry said, the last of his anger slipping away. "Now get out of those clothes and come here."

Draco quickly, elegantly slipped out of his clothes, joining Harry under the water. A second stream appeared, keeping both boys warm. Harry pulled him back into his embrace, tucking his head into Draco's neck.

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Why must you insist on asking?" Draco replied, running his hands over Harry's back. "Can't we just enjoy our shower?"

"I care about you," Harry said. "I don't like seeing you so upset. Nor do I like how you act when you're so upset."

Draco groaned. "Don't start a fight," he said. "Not again."

"I didn't—" Harry cut himself off. "Alright."

Draco tilted Harry's head up and kissed him, slowly, thoroughly. Harry kissed him back, not realizing how much he had missed kissing until now. He slid his hands into Draco's hair, anchoring him in place, and Draco's hands slid down to his hips, fingers digging in, leaving crescent-shaped nail marks in his skin.

"There are so many things I want to tell you," Draco breathed, pulling just far enough away that he could talk. "But my father, he'd kill me, or at least beat me within an inch of my life. Someday, though, I'll introduce you to Mother; she'll love you."

Harry wondered how much he could get away with asking before Draco clammed up again. "Does your father actually beat you?"

"You heard the Howler," Draco said quietly. "That cane he carries around with him, he…" Harry fisted his hands in Draco's hair, causing him to squirm. "Not so tight," Draco said, and Harry loosened his grip.

"I knew there was a reason I hated Lucius Malfoy," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"No, Harry, don't hate him," Draco said quietly. "He loves me. He's just…he never used to, not until Voldemort came back. You have no idea of the stress he was under—"

"I don't, do I?" Harry asked.

"I didn't mean it like that," Draco said. He kissed him again, running his tongue over Harry's lips slowly, deliberately. "Besides, out of the two of you, he hasn't scarred me." Harry traced the scars, watching how they curved over his pale skin, kissing each one, gently licking trails. Draco sighed. "Stop that," Draco said. "Get back up here." He pulled him back into a kiss, taking control, nibbling on Harry's lower lip, sliding his tongue through his mouth, pressing himself against Harry. "Harry," he breathed, "I want you to do something, but you're going to say no, and then I'm going to argue with you and you'll get mad at me and kick me out of the bathroom, and I'll spend tonight curled up on my side of the bed crying and it'll all be your fault."

"Then maybe you shouldn't ask," Harry said, kissing him again. Draco gently pushed him away, leaving his hands on his shoulders.

"Or you could promise me you won't freak out," Draco said, locking eyes. "Please promise me. I'm so scared, you have no idea, and you're going to say no anyways, so just promise me you won't leave when I ask."

Harry felt his stomach wrench with nervousness, equally split between Draco's request and whatever he was doing this weekend. "Okay, I promise."

Draco leaned down so his lips were brushing Harry's ear, breathing shakily, shot through with nerves. "I want to have sex with you."

Harry froze. "Draco—"

"It's okay," he rushed. "I don't expect you to say yes, I just needed to ask, okay?"

"I can't," Harry said. "Not tonight, not while you're this upset. We should save that for a better night."

"I know," Draco said. Harry heard the hitch in his voice, felt his fingers tightening against his shoulders.

"It's not you," Harry said. "I promise." Draco nodded, but Harry was nearly certain he didn't believe him. "Draco. I swear to you."

"I know," Draco said again.

"Come on," Harry said, gently tugging him out from under the water. "Let's go to bed, okay?"

Draco nodded. The water turned off and Harry dried himself, and then Draco. He led them back into the bedroom and Draco started towards the dresser, but Harry stopped him.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting boxers," Draco replied, again trying for the dresser and again being held back by Harry's hand on his wrist.

"Don't bother."

Draco gave him a look he didn't understand at all. "Are you sure?"

Harry had to bite back a laugh. "After all the times we've seen each other naked, like right now in the shower, you're concerned about boxers? You've slept naked next to me before, remember?"

"I—yeah, okay," Draco said, and Harry was ridiculously pleased to see Draco start to smile. Harry climbed into bed and Draco followed, curling himself around Harry the way he always did. Harry kissed the top of his head.

"Whatever happens," Harry said, "this weekend, whatever you're doing, you're still going to come home to me, right?"

"Of course," Draco said as if the possibility of doing anything else was ludicrous. "Harry, as long as you'll have me, I'm here." They stayed silent for long enough Harry thought Draco had fallen asleep when he finally added, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Harry asked sleepily.

"For being such a prat all week. It's just—I mean, I've been—"

"I know, it's okay." Harry interrupted. "Don't worry about it. Do—do you want me to come with you, this weekend? Wherever you're going?"

Draco shook his head sharply. "No, this is between me and—well, it doesn't matter. But it's not for you to come." Draco yawned. "I've got to get some sleep," he said. "I have a long day tomorrow."

Harry squeezed his shoulders. "Don't know how I'll sleep without you tomorrow night."

He felt Draco smile against his chest. "I imagine you'll spend it wanking to me." He shuddered, then flushed. "You'll have to give me a repeat performance when I get home. I've dreamed about watching you wank for _years_."

Harry flushed as well. "I—we'll see."

"Yes, I imagine we will."

Saturday dawned the same as all the other days before it—cold and rainy. Draco actually got out of bed before Harry, but he spent his time muttering angrily under his breath, pacing the room, throwing things into an overnight bag. He dressed very warmly—thick socks, slacks, an undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a turtleneck and then his woolen cloak. He wrapped his Slytherin scarf around his neck and looked angrily at Harry, who was still in bed.

"Draco," Harry said with a smile. "We're going to breakfast, not the North Pole."

"Bloody hell, breakfast. I forgot about that." He took off his scarf, cloak and turtleneck, throwing them into the overnight bag, which Harry assumed had the same charm on it as Hermione's purse. "Harry, come _on_. Get out of bed."

"Or you could come back in," Harry suggested. "Seeing as you'll be away all night and all."

Draco glared at him. "I won't. Besides, I'm far too anxious, I daresay I'd squeeze your cock off entirely."

Harry nearly choked on laughter. "Okay, okay, I'm getting up." He got dressed, much too slowly for Draco's liking, and grabbed his cloak, throwing it over an arm. "Okay, ready?"

"Finally," Draco said, storming towards the door. Harry grabbed his hand and he whirled around. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to hold your hand," Harry said a bit peevishly.

"O—oh," Draco said, flushing. "Alright then."

Breakfast was extremely uncomfortable. Harry was attempting to calm Draco, who continually shook off all physical contact and refused to comment on anything. Neville was a complete wreck, though he wasn't meeting Aurora for nearly twelve hours. Ron and Hermione were still in their couple-bubble, whispering and holding hands, but aware enough that everyone around them was in a foul mood, and seemed to take personal offense at this. They glared angrily every time Draco pulled his hand away or refused to comment on how excited everyone else was about Hogsmeade.

"Would you just lighten up already?" Ron asked finally.

Draco glared at him, causing Harry to suddenly worry that looks might indeed be able to kill. "Why don't you and your mudblood whore go find a corner to fuck in?"

This effectively shocked everyone into silence. Hermione looked ready to cry, Ron had resumed his fish impression, turning a bright, scarlet red, and Harry and Neville simply gaped at him.

"Draco…" Harry said. He tried to force something else out, a real sentence, but there didn't seem to be one to be found.

Draco slammed to his feet. "I have to go, I'm going to be late." He stalked out of the room, Harry quickly following.

"Draco, what the hell was that?" he yelled as they went out the front doors.

"Weasley needs to learn not to butt his big, red, freckled nose into places where it doesn't belong!" Draco snapped, striding so quickly Harry nearly had to run to keep up with him.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked. "Hogsmeade's—"

"I have to get my broom," Draco replied. "Yes, I know I can't fly off campus and no, I wasn't planning on trying, don't be daft."

"I didn't say anything like that!" Harry replied.

Draco tore into the Slytherin locker room, emerging a few minutes later with his broom, and having donned his cold-weather apparel. "Come on," he snapped, grabbing Harry's wrist and jerking him towards the pathway that led to Hogsmeade. Harry wrenched his hand free and stopped walking.

"Draco!" he yelled.

"I can't wait up for your pity party, Potter," Draco snapped. "I'm going to be late, I wasn't making that up."

"Draconius Malfoy, stop!"

Draco did stop, but Harry felt that probably had to do more with the conditioning of his full name than Harry's presence. Harry walked over to him and spun him around so they were facing.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm _trying _to go to Hogsmeade," he sneered. "But _someone_ keeps getting in my way."

"Yeah, I'm getting in your way," Harry said angrily. "Call my best friend a mudblood whore and think you can just get away with it, do you?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What are you going to do about it, _Potter_?"

Harry took out his wand and pointed it at Draco, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "Apologize."

Draco snorted. "Fat bloody chance."

"Not now," Harry snapped as if it was obvious. "When you get back, once you've calmed down."

"Is this another one of those stupid little Quidditch bets?" Draco asked mockingly. "I have to apologize to your friend or you get to dress me up as a Gryffindor?"

"No, this is called being human," Harry replied. "Last night you said if I'll have you, you'll stay. Well, I'll not have someone who says that sort of thing and doesn't apologize for it." Harry paused to take a breath. "You know, honestly, I don't care if you apologize or not. I want just a teeny, tiny part of you to feel bad about it."

Draco's eyes were still narrowed, and he looked at Harry, evaluating. "And how will you know if I'm lying or not?" he asked. "Slip me some Veritaserum?"

"I'll know," Harry said. "If you tell me you're honestly sorry, I'll know."

Draco continued to eye him for another moment before throwing his broom and bag onto the ground and pulling Harry towards him in a violent hug. Harry made a noise of protest, wand sticking up awkwardly. "You are far too decent for your own good," Draco said. He let Harry go as suddenly has he had grabbed him and picked his things up. "Tell Granger and Weasley whatever you'd like regarding my sentiments towards them, it doesn't matter to me. Now are you going to walk me to Hogsmeade or not?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said, head spinning. He and Draco had walked a few steps before he remembered to put his wand away and, once his hand was free, Draco took it in his, rubbing his thumb in circles over Harry's skin. "I'll just tell them you said you're sorry, yeah?"

"I told you, say whatever you'd like," Draco replied.

They spent the rest of the long walk in silence, though Draco never let go of Harry's hand. Once they crossed the border into Hogsmeade, Draco turned to Harry, leaning his broom on a nearby wall and taking Harry's other hand as well.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For what I said today, for what I've done this week, for what I've done since we've met. Especially for what I've done this week, though. You deserve far better than me."

"Draco—"

"Shut up, I'm not done." Draco took a deep breath. "I'll no doubt be even worse when I get back, and I'm warning you now, so you can't say you were unprepared. If you don't want to see me, just lock the Room of Requirement, and I'll go back to the dungeons, okay?"

"Of course I'll want to see you," Harry said quietly. "When are you getting back?"

"No later than eight," Draco said. "Maybe nine. In time for a quick game of Quidditch before bed."

"I'll be on the front steps waiting for you."

Draco smiled, a dazzling expression Harry could hardly comprehend. "You would be, wouldn't you?" He leaned down and brushed his lips against Harry's. "I have to go," he said, taking his hands back and mounting his broom. "I'll see you when I get back."

"Be safe," Harry said, not knowing why.

Draco laughed. "Coming from you, that's a real riot. But I'll do my best, I promise. Goodbye, love." He kicked off and Harry watched as he disappeared into the clouds.

It was another hour before Ron and Hermione showed up, toting Neville with them. Harry had waited by the gate, praying that his friends would give him, or Draco, or both of them, just one more chance before completely writing them off.

"He says he's sorry," Harry blurted out before they'd had a chance to say anything. "He's been under an enormous amount of pressure what with this weekend and all, and he didn't mean to say those things. Really, 'Mione, he actually apologized, I promise I'm not making it up."

Hermione raised her eyebrows and turned to Ron. "What do you say, Ronald? Shall we forgive him?"

Ron seemed to consider it. "I dunno, 'Mione. What he said was entirely uncalled for and the rudest thing I've ever heard come out of his mouth, and that's saying a lot."

"It is, isn't it?"

The conversation was designed to bother Harry as much as possible, and he knew it. He kept his hands balled up inside his cloak, letting them sort it out, though he was nearly positive they had already arrived at a decision, no doubt before they even left Hogwarts.

"Yeah, but Harry did say he's under stress."

"That's true," Hermione admitted. "Even my dad's been known to go off every now and then, if he gets bitten too many times in a row."

"Though probably not at an innocent patient."

"No, no never that."

There was a moment of silence, and then they both turned to Harry.

"This is Draco's last chance," Hermione said, pointing a finger at him.

"You've got a few more coming, seeing as you're obviously addled with—with _love_, or whatever you two call it," Ron added.

"But If Draco calls me that one more time—"

"—that's it," Ron said, finishing Hermione's sentence. "I'll curse him with everything I've got."

"And that's a lot," Hermione said. "You should've seen him over the summer practicing. He was a menace."

"A menace," Ron repeated.

"Have you got it?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. "You've made yourselves perfectly clear."

Ron and Hermione broke into sunny smiles. "Excellent!" Hermione said. "Come on, then, I promised Neville we'd help keep him busy until dinner. Tomes and Scrolls has gotten in the newest edition of _Hogwarts, A History_, and I've got to get one before they sell out."

Ron rolled his eyes, carefully, so she couldn't see him. "'Mione, I've told you a thousand times, they're not going to sell out."

"Besides, how many copies of that have you got now?" Harry asked. "Four? Five?"

Hermione flushed. "This will be the fifth, yes. But you never know what they're going to add; after second year, they added a whole chapter on the Chamber of Secrets. No doubt this year's version will be filled with accounts of the battle, and how it's shaped Hogwarts. It will be _fascinating._"

"Whatever you say," Ron said. They followed her into the bookshop, breaking off to look at different sections as Hermione flipped through her new book. Harry absentmindedly followed Neville over to the Potions section.

"Neville," he asked, "what're we doing looking at advanced potions books? Shouldn't you be over in Herbology or something?"

Neville flushed. "Er, Rory suggested I look through some books, get some ideas on potions we could make together."

"Oh?" Harry said. "How'd your last potion work out, then?"

"Quite well," Neville said. "It dries plants and herbs instantly, very useful for natural potion making."

"Mm," Harry agreed. "So what're you doing poking through _Moste Potente Potions_? Rory isn't a Death Eater, is she?"

"Course not," Neville said angrily, putting the book back as if it burned him. "I just hadn't heard of that book, that's all. I wanted to see what was in it."

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Harry!" Ron yelled.

"Ron, don't shout in a bookstore!" Hermione said, just as loudly.

Harry easily located Ron and Hermione in a back corner of the store. "What's all that shouting about?" he asked.

"We had to get you away from Neville," Ron said.

"Just for a minute," Hermione added.

"It's just—"

"—we've got a question for you—"

"—and we thought you wouldn't want Neville to hear."

Now that he wasn't begging for forgiveness, Harry felt he had no reason to stay and listen to this kind of couple-speak. It was exactly why he had banned them from Grimmauld Place. "Just spit it out already."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. "So this thing with Draco, it's serious?" Hermione asked.

Harry stared at them. "No, I just thought fooling around with the school's resident bad boy was the best use of my last year at Hogwarts," he snapped. "I was planning on throwing him aside as soon as it got boring. Y'know, just like I've done with all the other boys I've been with."

Hermione and Ron had the decency to blush. "That's not what I meant, Harry," Hermione replied quietly. "But I suppose you've answered my question."

"Why? What's this about?" Harry asked suspiciously. "You going to drop me now that you've decided I'm not just messing around?"

"No, of course not!" Hermione said. "The opposite, actually. Ron and I thought, if you two really are serious, then we ought to be spending more time together, the four of us."

"Not just at half-eaten lunches," Ron said. "But like, y'know, Quidditch, and studying, and stuff."

Harry continued to stare at them. "You…you want to get to know Draco better?"

"Well…yes, that's about it," Hermione said.

"You two—" Harry broke off, then pulled them both into a hug nearly as tight as Draco's had been. "You two are incredible."

Ron pulled away first, blushing and muttering something under his breath about how it wasn't that big a deal. Hermione hugged him a little longer, then let him go with a kiss on the cheek. "Come on, let's go find Neville before he thinks we've abandoned him."

Harry had a much better time than he expected to. Their next stop was Honeyduke's where they all stocked up, Harry especially. He bought, as Ron put it so delicately, "enough chocolate to fuel a small nation for at least a decade", as well as an assortment of candy, and a box of truffles he managed to keep Ron and Hermione from seeing.

"Those for Draco?" Neville asked, nearly startling Harry into screaming.

"Er, yeah," he said with a blush.

"D'you think I should get Rory something?" Neville asked, looking around the sweets shop.

"Not yet, I imagine," Harry replied, paying for his things and quickly shoving the box of truffles to the bottom of the bag. "But you should ask Hermione, I'm bollocks at dating."

Neville smiled coyly at him. "You don't seem to be doing too badly," he said. "Though who knows what's rumor and what's not."

"Let's not worry about that now," Harry said, steering Neville over to Ron and Hermione, who were bickering over which singing chocolate chorus to send to Mrs. Weasley for her birthday, which was coming up at the end of the month.

Their next stop was The Three Broomsticks for lunch, then Zonko's Joke Shop, which Ron resolutely refused to enter, stating it was an offense to George to even consider shopping there. This caused a rotational system to be set up, so someone was always sitting outside with Ron, while the other two got to shop. Harry was particularly pleased about this, because it meant he had a chance to talk to Hermione in private.

He found her by the sugar quills. "Do you think I should get some for Ron?" she asked. "He does have a tendency to chew on his quills, but I'm not sure if these would help or make it worse."

"Listen, Hermione, can I ask you something?" Harry said, leading her away from the display to the very back of the shop.

"Of course, Harry," she said. "What's wrong?"

"Well, nothing's wrong, exactly. You know how Draco and I were betting on our Quidditch games?" She nodded, and Harry continued, a blush creeping up his neck. "Well I lost a game and now I've got to go to Venus and Eros and I'm a little terrified and I was wondering if you could come with me and help me please?"

Hermione's hand fluttered to her mouth, and Harry thought she was suppressing a laugh. "Of course, Harry," she said, and the choked way she spoke was confirmation enough. "I assume you want to go without Ron and Neville?" Harry nodded. "Okay, leave it to me."

"I didn't buy anything, Ron," she said as she and Harry exited the shop. "Just for you." She kissed his cheek, and Ron smiled, a little foolishly, Harry thought.

"Weasleys stick together," he said with a nod.

"I'm a Granger," she reminded him gently. "Anyways, remember that _thing_ you had to get? And how it's at least a _month_ late?" Ron suddenly looked guilty. "Don't you think now would be a good time? I'm sure Neville would be happy to help you."

"Er, yeah, that's brilliant," Ron said, grabbing Neville's arm. "Dervish and Banges?"

"Uh, sure," Neville said, glancing over his shoulder at Harry and Hermione before following Ron.

"What was that about?" Harry asked, starting to walk down the street.

"Oh, your birthday gift," Hermione said. "Don't tell him I told you. Also, Harry, you're heading the wrong way."

"So you've been here before?" Harry asked, voice coming out a croak.

"Of course," Hermione said primly. "We all went on our first Hogsmeade visit. We thought it very silly. Weren't you—? Oh, no, of course not, you weren't allowed to go. Well, you'll get to see it now." Hermione let him down a side street and walked through a discreet door labeled Venus & Eros, a door that could have lead to any sort of shop at all. Harry was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but the shop was brightly lit, extremely clean, and well organized. "Well?" Hermione asked after waiting for Harry to say something for several minutes. "What are you looking for?"

"I, uh…" Harry scanned the shop. "I have no idea."

The door opened, slamming into Harry's back. Hermione pulled him further into the room, muttering an apology to the well-dressed witch who entered behind them. She eyed the pair severely.

"Your first time?" she asked.

Blushing furiously, Harry nodded.

"Well, this is my shop, so if you need any help, just ask." She swept behind the desk and was quickly deep in conversation with the younger witch who had already been there.

"Hermione, this is terrifying," Harry whispered. "I don't even know how—"

"Okay, well let's start there." Hermione dragged him over to a wall of books. "Surely they have a section on homosexual relationships…ah, yes, right here." She leaned over and began reading off titles to Harry. "_A Wizard's Guide to Wizards_, that could be good. Or how about _Adventures South of the Boxers_, if you're looking for stories, rather than a manual? Or maybe—no, wait, that's for lesbians."

Harry was a furious red. "Never mind, I can't do this."

"Of course you can," she said crossly, placing a copy of _A Wizard's Guide to Wizards_ in his hands. "And you'll want something you can use, I assume?"

Harry wished with all his might he could sink into the floor and never be seen again. "Um. Maybe, yeah, I dunno."

"Do you know what Draco likes?" she asked, beginning to circle the shop, dragging Harry along by his elbow. "Would he be interested in vibrators? Handcuffs? A cock ring?"

"I literally cannot believe I just heard you say that," Harry said. "We are leaving. Right now."

Hermione planted her feet firmly on the floor, arms crossed. "Do you really want to admit to Draco Malfoy that you're scared of a sex shop?

Harry was extremely upset by how right she was. "Handcuffs, maybe," he muttered, thinking back to the time he had semi-accidentally magically bound Draco, and how he had said to warn him before he did it again. Harry had no idea if it was a joke or not, but he had nothing else to go on.

"Okay, brilliant," Hermione said, pushing him over to the correct wall. "Ron and I like to—"

"I don't want to hear about it!" Harry said loudly.

"You asked for my help," Hermione replied huffily. "But fine. Get those, the padded leather ones. They're most comfortable."

"Thank you," Harry said through clenched teeth, picking them up gingerly, as if they might bite him.

"You probably ought to get some lubrication as well," Hermione said thoughtfully.

Harry turned to her, gripping her shoulder with his free hand. "Hermione, once we leave this store, this never happened, okay? You will never again say any of these words to me, and as far as you know, Draco and I do nothing but snog each other politely and you are Ron are utterly celibate. Do we have an agreement?"

Hermione removed Harry's hand. "Of course. Now, flavored or regular?"

They met back up with Ron and Neville outside Dogweed and Deathcap, a Herbology shop. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Hermione asked Ron pointedly.

"Yeah, the perfect thing. We can give it to y—er, him, later on. Did you two manage to find something to do?"

"We just window shopped," Hermione said casually.

Ron looked at Harry suspiciously. "You're awfully pink."

"It's cold out," Harry said and though it was a bit chilly, it was nowhere near cold enough to cause reddened cheeks.

"Right then," Ron said. "Neville wanted to look at the plants."

Neville let out a huge sigh. "Ron, I told you, they're not just plants, they're—"

"Lead the way, Neville," Hermione said, following him into the shop. She grabbed Ron by the collar and whispered, "We're supposed to be keeping him distracted, remember?"

"Sorry, sorry," Ron muttered, and she let him go.

Soon enough it was nearly eight, and Ron, Hermione and Harry marched Neville to Intrépide, where they found Aurora waiting outside for him, sitting on a bench just under the restaurant sign. Even Harry thought she looked beautiful; she was wearing a dark green dress, knee-length, just pretty enough to be considered formal attire. She had wrapped herself in a gauzy green shawl that sparkled in the light, and her hair was in a loose braid over one shoulder.

"Neville, hi," she said, jumping up from the bench.

"Er, hi," he replied, looking at her feet. Ron gave him a sharp poke to the ribs, and Neville managed to meet her gaze. "Shall we go in, then?"

"I imagine that would be the next step, yes," she said, her blush disregarding her coy smile. "Let me take your arm, okay?"

"Uh, of course," Neville said, holding it out for her. She gently wrapped her hands around his elbow, and Harry thought she was standing just a bit closer than she needed to be.

"Thanks for the delivery," Aurora said, a twinkle in her eye. "A well-devised plan, I think."

"Have a brilliant time," Harry said.

"And try the chicken," Ron suggested.

"Right, see you later, then," Neville said, and they walked inside.

Hermione sighed, a happy smile on her face. "It's about time Neville got a girl, don't you think?"

"Hell's even frozen over, what with Harry and Malfoy dating," Ron said, earning himself an elbow to the ribs. "Not that Neville couldn't get a date before that or anything."

"I recall him taking your sister to the Yule Ball," Hermione said.

"That wasn't a date," Ron said, starting to scowl. "You and Krum did _not_ go on a date."

"Wow, Ron, quite a leap to that, but alright." Hermione turned to Harry. "We'll meet you up at the castle?"

"Uh, yeah, definitely. See you later," Harry said, watching as his friends walked into the restaurant. The day had been going so well he had completely forgotten he was a third wheel. He wished desperately for Draco to appear so they, too, could have a romantic night out, but at least Draco had left on good terms.

_Some relationship_, Harry thought irritably, starting the trek back to Hogwarts. _I get to be happy about the fact that Draco didn't just storm off and leave after calling my best friend a mudblood whore. That shouldn't even be—_

"Hello, Harry."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around to see the two French girls standing in front of him, matching high patches of color on their cheeks. "Er, hi."

"We realized we never had ze proper introductions," the one on the right said. She had slightly longer hair, while the one on the left was just a touch blonder. "I am Violette, and this is my cousin, Charlotte."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said awkwardly, shaking their hands. They couldn't have been more than fifteen at the absolute most, and something about the way they were looking at him made him supremely uncomfortable.

"Are you heading back so soon?" Violette asked.

"There is so much left to see!" Charlotte added.

Harry, the weight of his purchases at Venus & Eros heavy in his hands, felt he had seen quite enough. "I've got to study," he said, which wasn't exactly a lie. He did have homework, he just didn't plan on doing it.

"We could help, with ze studying," Violette offered. "We are quite skilled in—how you say it—Divination?"

Harry groaned internally. Just what he needed. "I'm actually not taking that this year," he said, starting to back away. "But thanks for the offer."

"We shall see you later, yes?" Charlotte asked. "In ze common room?"

"Er, yeah, I'm sure," Harry said and hurried away before they could say anything else. No matter what Draco had called Hermione, Harry would welcome his presence over Violette and Charlotte's any day. Every day. For the rest of time.


	20. Chapter 20: In which Draco comes home

**A/N:** Unfortunately, once again I am too cold-foggy to do a last run through to catch any stupid mistakes, so please pardon any bad grammar/spelling/wrong words you may come across.

Yet, finally! The explanation for where Draco has been, and why he's been so difficult. I'm a little scared to publish this chapter; after all the build-up, what if you guys don't like it? What if you think it's stupid, and I've way over hyped myself? Such is the plight of the internet writer.

Also, you guys, totally unrelated, but I broke the 500 page mark yesterday. This has something to do with the fact that I finished chapter twenty-eight. So never fear, no matter how cold-foggy I am, I still have more than a week's worth of publishable chapters.

And, for those of you who comment about the memorial—I really appreciate it, especially since I can't go. I'm there in spirit, by which I mean I've been about to cry since I've woken up and I've had to be in physical contact with a Harry Potter book at all times today (my toes are resting on _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_).

Finally, I've done my best to keep everyone in character this chapter, but it deals with some _heavy stuff, man_, and I may have slipped up a bit. Rest assured, even if it's not exactly canon, it's perfectly in character in my mind.

**Chapter Twenty:**

_**In which Draco comes home.**_

When Harry returned to the Room of Requirement, he saw that his bedside table had sprung a drawer, and it was into this he shoved his purchases from Venus and Eros. The candy and chocolates went into the sock drawer where he always stashed such things. He left the box of truffles on Draco's nightstand to be found when he returned.

Reluctantly, Harry took out his Muggle Studies book, a long piece of parchment and a quill, and began writing. Between fighting with Draco and visiting Hagrid he hadn't gotten any work done, and if tonight was any indication, by tomorrow he'd be a nervous wreck, incapable of focusing on anything other than Draco's return. So, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, even though the pull of the book in his bedside table was getting steadily stronger, Harry did his Muggle Studies homework, cursing every sentence, every word. He was about halfway through the three feet when he heard a knock on the door, jarring him out his boredom-induced trance

"Harry, you in there?" Neville asked, voice muffled through the wall. "The room won't let me in, I can't even find the door."

"Yeah, sorry, just a second," Harry said, pushing his homework to the side and quickly locking his bedside table drawer, not that Neville would have any reason to attempt to open it. Giving the room a last sweep—and sending a pair of Draco's boxers into the hamper—Harry opened the door and let Neville in.

"So, how'd it go?" Harry asked, leading him over to the couch.

"Good," Neville said, sounding like he was in a daze. He sat on the couch and stared into the fireplace. "I—I think she might like me, Harry."

Harry grinned, welcoming the distraction from both his homework and the knots in his stomach. "That's brilliant! What happened?"

"Er, well, we went inside, and then we got seated, and looked at the menu—"

"Skip to the highlights," Harry interrupted.

"I actually managed to hold up my end of the conversation," Neville said. "With, like, complete sentences and everything. I only stammered once or twice."

Coming from Neville, that was just shy of a miracle. "So what did you talk about?"

"Oh, y'know, Potions, Herbology, that sort of thing. Rory told me about her family; she's got an older brother who's teaching Charms at Barnstable, and a little sister who's still in school. Her parents are teachers, too. Runs in the family."

"Did you tell her about—"

Neville shook his head. "I told her about Gran," he said. "I didn't mention my parents, and she didn't ask."

Harry nodded. "Suppose that might not be first date material."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. So anyways, we talked, and had dessert, and I walked her back to her dorm. Did you know that only Hufflepuffs are allowed in their dorms? The doorway repels any other house."

"Uh, no, I didn't," Harry said, thankful Hermione wasn't here to admonish him yet again for not reading _Hogwarts, A History_.

"So I couldn't go in or anything. But…" Neville trailed off, blushing.

"But what?" Harry prodded. "Did you give her a goodnight kiss?"

Neville nodded. "On the cheek. Blimey, Harry, she's got soft skin, and she smells so good up close."

Harry grinned. "Good for you, mate. Did you set a next date?"

Neville shook his head, and Harry could see his characteristic nervousness coming back. "What if she thought I was just being polite?" he asked. "Aren't goodnight kisses supposed to be, y'know, proper kisses?"

"Neville," Harry said firmly. "She does not think you were just being polite. I promise. If you're so nervous about it, why not just owl her and ask her out again?"

"Isn't there a waiting period, or something? Supposed to wait three days?"

Harry thought of his relationship with Draco, and flushed. "Er, maybe. Hermione'd know better than me."

"But what if Justin does something before I say anything?" Neville asked anxiously.

"Did she say anything about him at dinner?"

"Uh, no."

"Then you're fine. Either they spent the day together and it was so dull she didn't bother mentioning it, or she split off and spent the time with other Hufflepuffs, in which case he matters even less," Harry reasoned.

"I suppose…" Neville stayed silent for a few moments, still staring into the fireplace. "What do I do next?"

Harry considered. After their first kiss on the Quidditch pitch, they had been brought together by Harry's nightmare, and his intense need not to be alone. He didn't think that would help Neville. "Ask Hermione?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "She and Ron disappeared into their room as soon as they got back, and I am not going to disturb them."

Harry thought that wise, but he still didn't have anything helpful to say. "Maybe you should just go up to her and kiss her?" he asked. "That's what happened with me and Draco."

Neville shook his head sharply. "I'm not as brave as you."

"Sure you are," Harry said. "You killed the snake, remember? And gave that brilliant speech to Voldemort?"

"Those weren't—it wasn't—" Neville ran his hands through his hair. "Kissing a girl is harder."

"You can do it," Harry said. He glanced at the clock; it was nearly eleven, and he really ought to finish his Muggle Studies essay. "Er, Neville, I've got studying—"

"Yeah, of course," Neville said, standing up and going to the door. "We miss having you in the common room, you know."

Harry flushed. "I'll drop in tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure. See you later."

"Later."

Harry finished his essay and crawled into bed, feeling terribly lonely. He knew he was being ridiculous; he and Draco had only been together for a couple of weeks, and already the bed felt dreadfully empty. Not to mention he had spent the week wrapped up in the drama Draco had created, and it was only now that worry began to seep in. He had no idea where Draco was or what he was doing, only that it had caused him to be a miserable wreck all week. Harry curled himself into a ball, wishing he was back in Gryffindor tower, sharing a room with Neville, Dean and Seamus. But he didn't have the energy to actually get up and do something about it. The bed was cold as well, which struck Harry as the final straw. The fire was roaring and the windows were closed, but the castle was old and drafty, and without Draco to keep him warm, Harry found himself shivering, even under the plushy comforter. He grabbed his wand and uttered the spell he only half remembered.

"_Cadlium barrira!_"

Instead of finding himself encased in warmth, the table in the middle of the room flipped upside down, scattering his papers everywhere, and throwing his favorite quill into the fire.

"_Caldium barria!_" he tried.

Books shot out of the bookcase, one of Draco's old tomes slamming into the side of his head. Harry looked down at the title. _Moste Potente Potions_. Of course.

"_Calidum borira!"_

Flames shot out of the fireplace, nearly setting fire to his Muggle Studies homework and book, not to mention the carpet. A quick _Aguamenti_ prevented the room from catching fire, but Harry wasn't particularly excited about rewriting his entire essay.

"_Calidum borriro!_"

Ah, there it was. Harry snuggled into the warmth, leaving the mess he had made for the morning. He heard a creaking noise, and watched as the window closest to the bed opened. _Brilliant_, he thought, though the wind didn't penetrate the spell he had cast. When Capry flew in and hopped onto Draco's pillow, Harry found himself smiling.

"You are fantastic bird," he said.

Capry hooted in agreement.

Eventually, Harry fell asleep.

_Harry was standing at the end of a long corridor. The walls were made of marble, stretching up as high and nearly as long as he could see. Harry could just make out Draco standing at the other end, an eternity away._

"_Draco!" Harry called. His voice echoed and rang throughout the corridor, but Draco shook his head, indicating he couldn't hear him. Harry reached for his wand, but he found he didn't have it._

_Draco, however, had his, and he floated a piece of parchment down the hallway. It seemed to take forever to reach Harry, but eventually it landed in front of him. Harry leaned down and picked it up._

Don't look up.

_Harry looked up. Lucius Malfoy had appeared in the middle of the hallway, blocking Harry's view of Draco. He faced Harry, looking at him as if he was something rather nasty on the bottom of his shoe, hand resting delicately on his cane._

"_It has come to my attention that you and my son are involved romantically."_

_Harry looked at the parchment again._

Don't answer.

"_Yes, we are," Harry said._

"_I wouldn't think that very wise of you," Lucius said. "No, not at all."_

Duck.

_Harry looked up just in time to see a yellow jet of light fly out of Lucius's wand and hit him square in the chest. He was knocked backwards, flying several feet before landing harshly on the cold, unforgiving floor._

"_In fact, I would think now a spectacular time to end that particular courtship," Lucius said. "Seeing as the three of us are gathered together and all. What do you say, Harry?"_

Don't answer. Stay on the floor.

"_I won't," Harry said. He stood up, again reaching for his wand that he knew wasn't there. "Why don't you ask Draco what he wants, rather than pushing me around?"_

_Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Alright," he said smoothly. Not turning away from Harry, he called out, "Draco, dear boy. Do you want to be with this boy?"_

I'm going to lie.

"_No, Father, of course not."_

"_There, now that we've settled that, we can proceed." Lucius raised his wand again. "Come here, Potter."_

_Harry's feet started sliding across the marble floor. He stopped directly in front of Lucius, only an inch or two separating them. Harry looked down at the parchment._

You didn't listen. I can't help you.

"_Goodbye, Harry Potter," Lucius said. A flash of green, and then blackness_.

Harry woke up with a gasp, instinctively reaching out for Draco. The bed was empty, and it took a desperate minute before Harry could remember why. His flailing hand had hit Capry, and the bird started jumping up and down and hooting, clearly thinking he was about to be sent out.

"Sorry, Capry, not now," Harry muttered, reaching for his glasses. He blinked in the low light, trying to see the numbers on the clock. Six in the morning. Too late to go back to sleep, too early for breakfast. Harry blundered out of bed and nearly walked into the overturned table.

"Oh, right," he said. He fetched his wand from the bedside table and waved it, attempting the grand arc Dumbledore had performed years ago at the house Slughorn had been staying in. It worked, mostly. The table flipped back up and most of the books returned to the shelf, though Harry had no way of knowing whether or not they were up to Draco's standards of organization. The scorched bit of rug faded until it was almost unnoticeable, and Harry's Muggle Studies book and essay were back on the table. Harry dressed quickly, then shoved his homework, which did indeed need to be rewritten on paper that wasn't scorched around the edges and soggy and smudged in the middle into his bag. He added his Muggle Studies book and his Potions book; then he took his potions book back out of his bag, flipped to the page that contained their homework, and grabbed the necessary ingredients along with his collapsible cauldron.

"Capry, I'm going to Gryffindor Tower," he told the owl, who was still sitting on Draco's pillow. "I don't think you want to come." Harry could have sworn Capry inclined his head ever so slightly before taking off and flying out the open window. Shaking his head, he walked out of the room and plodded up to Gryffindor tower before realizing, yet again, he did not have the password. Even worse, the Fat Lady was asleep, and she did not react well to being woken.

"Er, excuse me," Harry said. She mumbled something and let out a snore. "Excuse me!" Harry said louder, tapping gently on the portrait.

The Fat Lady cracked open an eye. "What do you want?" she asked grumpily.

"Can you let me in, please?"

"Have you got the password?"

"Er, no, but—"

"Then why would you wake me up when you know you can't get it?" she snapped. "And now I'm too flustered to fall back asleep. The brilliant Harry Potter at work here."

"But you know who I am," Harry insisted. "You just said my name."

"Your name is not the password," she replied, looking down at him. "Not even you are that important."

Harry clenched his fists. "Fine. Sugar quills. Chocolate frogs. Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Jelly Beans. Lemon drop. No, wait, it's already been that. Acid pops."

"There it is," she said, and swung open.

"Thanks for all the help," Harry said scornfully. In return, the Fat Lady slammed the door shut before he was fully in the room, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.

The common room was entirely empty, which Harry found surprisingly depressing. Had he really grown so attached to being in constant contact with someone? He walked over to Heidelberg's portrait.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," Heidelberg said. "How are you this fine day?"

"Apparently not as much of a morning person as you," Harry replied, stifling a yawn. "Any chance Ron and Hermione are up yet?"

"Not last time I checked, but I'll look again."

"Thanks," Harry muttered. He sat on the floor and leaned against the back of a couch. His eyes started to close, and he was nearly asleep when Heidelberg returned. "You're in luck, Hermione's just woken, and she's said you can come up as long as you're quiet and don't wake Ron. If you're awake yourself, that is."

"Yeah, I'm up," Harry said as Heidelberg swung aside. "Thanks."

"Any time, my dear boy."

"Your portrait is a morning person," Harry said quietly as he entered Ron and Hermione's room.

She rolled her eyes. "You should hear him when we come in late. Going on and on about how he needs his sleep, how his flock needs to be tended to very early. He'll get started like this around nine most nights, sometimes ten if we're lucky.

"Anyway, what brings you up here so early? Couldn't sleep?"

"Nightmare," Harry replied, settling at the table. "Figured I might as well get some homework done, especially since I ruined my Muggle Studies essay."

Hermione, still in her pajamas, picked up the ruined parchment. "What happened to it?"

"I was trying to remember a spell," Harry said. "And it was late, and I forgot, and I made a bit of a mess."

"I can see that. But don't be so dramatic, you hardly need to redo the whole thing. Here." She took out her wand and pointed it at the edge of the parchment. "_Conbustio nonius._" The singed edges of the parchment reformed themselves, uncurling and turning back to their original color. "And as for the waterlogged ink…Hm. _Figere sorditudio!_" The writing realigned itself, the blots disappearing. Harry's handwriting became neater than he'd ever seen it.

"Hermione, you're brilliant."

She smiled. "You really ought to learn these sort of spells yourself. What are you going to do when you're working at the Ministry and you've spilt coffee down your latest report? At least I know what to get you for Christmas. Now look away, I've got to get dressed."

Harry obediently looked away, took out his Potions book, and read over what he was supposed to do. It was another healing potion, but more powerful, the closest wizards had to staving off death. It looked terribly complicated, and Harry wished desperately for Draco.

"Have you done Potions yet?" Harry asked.

"No, Ron and I were going to do that today. Why, does it look hard?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. He flipped the page, and noticed writing in the margins. He turned the book and squinted, and could just make out what it said.

_Sorry Harry, you're on your own for this one. Remember to stir clockwise. Oh, and thinly slice the Mandrake root, don't cube it like the book says. And it only needs to simmer for eight hours, not ten. Love._

Harry, feeling very stupid, felt tears welling up in his eyes. He had been so tired, and feeling so alone, and had been on-and-off cursing Draco for leaving without telling him anything about it, and then he had gone and done this for him.

"What's gotten into you?" Hermione asked, coming to sit at the table holding a huge pile of books.

"Er, nothing," Harry said. "Got something in my eye." He pulled the unused chair over to him and set up his cauldron, carefully follow the book's—and Draco's—instructions. By the time Ron woke up his potion was a rather viscous-looking dark red, just as it was supposed to be.

"Harry, you've really come leaps and bounds in Potions," Hermione said approvingly. "Draco left you notes, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said, a little guiltily. "But, really, it's our potion, so it's not like I'm cheating or anything."

"Never said you were," Hermione replied.

"Blimey, smells awful in here," Ron said sleepily. "Harry, what're you doing?"

"Potions," he replied. "What's it look like? And the book says it's supposed to smell like a bog, that means I've done it right."

"Well you didn't have to do it in here," Ron said, getting up and opening the windows. "How long have you two been up, then?"

"Around six or so," Hermione said. "It's nearly eight, Ron. Get dressed, and we'll go down for breakfast."

"Can't I sleep a little more?" Ron asked, almost whining. "You kept me up awfully late last night."

Hermione flushed. "That's not the point," she said. "You've got ages of homework to do. Harry's already finished Muggle Studies and Potions. You've done, what? Flipped through your books?"

Ron glared at her, and Harry said, "I really wish you wouldn't use me as an example like that. I was only up this early because I had a nightmare."

"Which one this time?" Hermione asked. "You didn't mention it before. Bellatrix again? Or your parents?"

"Uh, no, this was a new one. You're right though, we should get down to breakfast. Hurry up, Ron."

"Oh yes, everybody yell at Ron, that's brilliant," Ron said, shoving dresser drawers open and closed. "Let's all make fun of Ron for not getting his homework done, and for sleeping in, and for daring to take an extra minute to get dressed. That'll be fun for everybody."

"Forgot he wasn't a morning person," Harry muttered quietly to Hermione.

She closed her eyes as if she had a headache. "I had to deal with this all summer."

"Let's talk about Ron behind his back!" Ron interrupted, pulling his clothes on. "Everyone knows how much Ron loves that!"

"Oh, Ron, calm down," Hermione said. "You'll feel better after your coffee. You always do."

He glared at her. "Stop patronizing me."

"Then stop being so daft," Hermione replied easily. "Ready?"

"I've just got my shoes left, if that's alright with you," he said, shoving them on.

"Of course it is, don't be silly."

Harry watched this exchange in amusement. Neither of them were actually arguing, just going through the motions the same way Harry imagined they did every morning. He found it rather sweet and wondered if he and Draco would ever get to that point, ever get past blasting holes in curtains and using threats to get each other out of bed.

When Ron was finally ready they went down to breakfast, collecting Neville in the common room and running into Luna on the way down.

"Hello," she said. "I rather feel like we haven't spoken in years. There are so many rumors flying around, I hardly know what to believe. Neville, are you really dating a Hufflepuff from Canada?"

"Well, she's from America, and I'm not exactly sure, but I think, maybe," Neville replied, blushing. "That's gotten around school already? Blimey, we just went on our first date last night."

"You've been brewing potions together," Luna said serenely. "The general consensus is that you wouldn't be brewing extra potions unless there was a girl involved."

"She's got a point," Harry said.

"And you, Harry," Luna said. "Dating Draco Malfoy? That would explain why he sat with us at lunch the other day."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "I can't imagine what the school's saying."

"That you've gone evil, or he's gone good, depending on who you ask," Luna said. They reached the Gryffindor table and sat down, breakfast appearing in front of them. "The Slytherins seem to think it's a big joke, except for a few who are actually angry. The Hufflepuffs are busy with their own gossip about Neville, and I'd imagine you'd know the Gryffindor's feelings much better than I. Oh, and we Ravenclaws don't really care much one way or the other. Date whoever you'd like."

Harry was thrown by this rather odd approval, but not entirely surprised. "Er, thanks, Luna."

"Oh, don't thank me," she said. "I didn't have anything to do with it. I don't partake in gossip myself."

After breakfast they returned to Gryffindor tower, Luna included, and did their homework. Harry was forced into helping Ron and Neville with potions while Luna and Hermione did Arithmancy. Eventually Ron and Neville could proceed unsupervised, leaving Harry to his Care of Magical Creatures essay on the magical property of the Augurey. It didn't take him very long at all, and by the time he was done, he realized he had nothing to do between now and "eight or nine". For once he found himself thinking that perhaps Hermione had been right and he should have signed up for more classes.

"Harry, you're done already?" Hermione asked, suddenly looking up from the number charts.

"Er, yeah. I had all of last night to do homework, seeing as I wasn't up all night shagging," Harry said, a bit forcefully.

Hermione frowned at him. "You're quite worried about Draco, aren't you?"

Harry glared back at her. "It's none of your business."

"You're only saying that cause he said it's none of yours," Ron replied, not looking up from his potion. "You're jealous, aren't you? Of whatever he's doing this weekend?"

"Don't be daft," Harry snapped. "How can I be jealous of something I don't even know?"

"It's so nice to see you two getting along," Luna said, not looking up from the number charts. "Imagine how lovely it would be if everyone just got along."

"Oh, bollocks," Neville said as his potion started giving off a very unpleasant odor. "Harry, did Draco mention anything in his notes about that?"

"No, sorry," Harry said, inching away from the smell. "Hermione, can you do anything about that?"

"I've got it," Luna said. She took a small vial out of her pocket and tapped some dust into her hand, which she blew over the cloud of gas emitting from Neville's potion. The smell of dung was replaced with a wonderful smelling flower that Harry couldn't place.

"Luna, that's lovely," Hermione said.

"Of course it is. It's powdered _aurugine unguenti_ leaves. The flower I showed you, Harry. Remember?"

"Yeah I remember," Harry said rather crossly.

"Harry, did you bring your book?" Hermione asked. "You could study that."

Harry glared at her. "No."

"What book?" Ron asked, carefully stirring his potion, which was slowly starting to smell like Harry's.

"It's nothing," Harry said, teeth gritted.

"Doesn't sound like nothing," Luna replied in her serene voice, as if she didn't particularly mind knowing one way or the other.

"You can all just shove it because I'm not saying anything," Harry said firmly.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry," Hermione said.

"Hermione, don't you dare—"

"Harry got a book on relationships, that's all," she said. "I can't imagine why he's being so secretive about it."

Ron started laughing. "You're turning into a girl, Harry. Reading up on relationships."

"See?" Harry said accusingly. "See, this is why I didn't want people to know."

"Next thing I know you'll be buying Draco chocolates," Ron said.

"Oh, you didn't see?" Neville said. "The truffles—"

"Neville, _shut up_," Harry said.

Ron laughed even louder. "Brilliant," he said between gasps of air.

"Well I think it's sweet," Hermione said. "Whatever's going on this weekend, I'm sure Draco could use a box of truffles when he gets home."

"My father makes truffles," Luna said. "They're quite delicious. I'm especially fond of the ones with raspberry filling. Did you get Draco ones with raspberry filling?"

"I, uh, I'm not sure," Harry said. This was getting very complicated. Who was he mad at again? Hermione? Or was it Ron?

"Well, I hope they've got raspberry filling," Luna said. "Oh, Hermione, look here. That's the bit you were missing, isn't it?"

And with that, they were back to homework, while Harry was left to his worries. He became more and more restless as the day progressed, hardly eating anything at lunch and spending much of the afternoon pacing the common room. He gathered a lot of stares at first, especially from the French girls, but eventually everyone seemed to determine he wasn't going to do anything interesting, and returned to whatever they had been doing. By dinner Hermione was actively trying to calm him, but it did no good. She tried to convince him to come back up to Gryffindor Tower, but Harry decided he'd rather return to the Room of Requirement. At least that's what he told her. And he did, but only to fetch his woolen coat and the book Hermione had made him buy. He kept it carefully tucked away as he walked downstairs and out the front door. It was only seven, yes, but it was either wait for Draco out here or stare at the Marauder's Map all night, and he had promised to meet him on the front steps, so…

Harry curled up on the top step against the wall, just enough light emanating from the windows to read by. Blushing furiously, Harry opened the book and began to read. It wasn't as bad as he thought; it was more of a self-help book for gay wizards than anything else. Harry loathed even the idea of self-help books, but he actually found it rather useful. And it distracted him sufficiently that eight o'clock passed unnoticed, and then nine. In fact, Harry didn't check the time until quarter of ten, at which point he nearly had a heart attack. Where was Draco? Why hadn't he returned? What had gone wrong? Harry tucked the book into his pocket and walked down the stairs, as if doing so would cause Draco to appear out of the darkness. The path was still lit for anyone coming back late from Hogsmeade, and he ought to be able to see Draco walking towards him, when he arrived. Harry was tempted to cast _Lumos maxima_, but technically it was after hours, and he didn't fancy getting stuck in detention when he was supposed to be waiting for Draco.

Instead, he conjured a clock. His eyes flicked from the clock to the pathway and back again, seeing nothing other than the minutes slowly ticking off. By ten-thirty Harry was in a panic, torn between staying where he was, going to find Hermione, who always knew the right thing to do, and to owl Draco. The rational bit of his brain suspected that wherever Draco was he wouldn't, or couldn't, be owling, otherwise he would have told Harry he'd be late, but the desire to do _something_ was becoming too much. Just as he decided to walk back into the castle, he saw a figure walking down the path.

"Draco?" he called out. The figure raised an arm in return, and Harry rushed to him, pulling him into a hug. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "You're late, and you smell, and we were supposed to play Quidditch."

Draco jerked away, glaring at Harry. "I just got back from two days of flying all over the bloody Scottish Isles," he snapped. "I haven't even been in the castle yet, let alone had time to put my things down, never mind a shower. I'm so sorry my scent fails to meet your highest of expectations."

"No, I didn't mean, I mean—you smell like the ocean," Harry stammered. "The Scottish Isles? What's the big secret about that? And the ocean smells good, it was a compliment." He knew he was rambling, but that panic was still coursing through his veins, and he couldn't seem to organize his thoughts.

"That's not the secret, you idiot. It's—it's complicated. Come on, let's get inside."

Harry followed him inside and up to the seventh floor corridor, feeling rather like an overexcited puppy. "Really, Draco, you smell brilliant, I didn't mean anything by it. What's the secret, then? Are you okay? Did something happen? Why're you late?"

"Would you just shut up!" Draco snapped, walking into the Room without bothering to change anything. "What happened in here? My books are all over the place! Do you have any idea how old some of these are? You can hardly turn the pages without them turning to dust! I swear to god, Potter, if you've ruined my library—" He stopped, leaning his broom against the wall and violently throwing his entire overnight bag into the hamper. His cloak and scarf flew to the coat rack and his jumper joined the bag in the hamper. "Did you really yell at me for not getting back early enough to play Quidditch?"

"Er, about the books, it was a spell gone wrong, but they should be fine," Harry said vaguely. "And no, I didn't yell at you, I don't think, I was just asking, because you've been so damned mysterious, and I was worried."

"You were worried about me?" Draco asked as if there was something wrong with the statement. "You were bloody worried about _me_?"

"Yeah, I was," Harry said, starting to feel defensive. "You were late, and I was worried. What of it?"

"There are far more important things to be worried about, _Potter_," Draco spat. "You want to know where I was? I was with my father, that's the big secret. One last weekend together out flying, and then, who knows, maybe I'll never see him again. His trial starts Monday. Do you want the rundown of that, too? Mother's talked me through it a hundred times. The first day he'll be giving names. Maybe, if he's lucky, there'll be one or two the ministry doesn't know about. If not, well, that's more points against him. The next day he'll be read a list of his crimes, and given a chance to defend himself. That could take days. Then, if anyone gets to testify on his behalf, they get to. Finally, at the very end, he gets to explain what living with Voldemort was like, how he treated us, forced us to do his bidding. Maybe the Ministry will understand and let him off easy. Far more likely he'll get sent to Azkaban for the rest of his life, and I'll never get to see him again without Dementors around every corner and bars between us. Contrary to your sob story, there are worse things that losing a parent to death. So, y'know, excuse me if I find spending a few more hours with my father a tad more important than some grudge match over who has control over the Room of Requirement, or whatever idiotic bet your tiny little brain can come up with."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Draco…"

"Don't," he snapped. "You couldn't possibly understand, and I don't want to hear your babbling."

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco had walked over to the mantle, and his eyes were on the picture of his parents, on his father. "Did you finish our potion?"

"I—uh, yeah, it's done," Harry managed. That was not what he had been expecting. "Thanks for the notes."

"I don't need Slughorn yelling at me on top of everything else," Draco said. "Is the rest of your work done? Do you have the night off?"

"Yeah."

Draco let out a shuddering sigh and sat, close enough to the fireplace that Harry marveled he didn't catch on fire. "Would you come sit next to me?" he asked. "That question is only valid if you promise to keep your mouth shut."

Harry did as he was asked, sitting next to Draco, feeling the fire baking out towards him. He watched Draco, saw every tiny movement, each one betraying something. The clenching of his jaw to prevent him from saying anything else, though Harry couldn't imagine what. How he had tightened when Harry sat down, and was now slowly loosening, moving closer to him as each muscle relaxed. The twitch just below his eye that meant he was trying not to cry. His hands, fingers twisted angrily together, occasionally jerking in Harry's direction before moving back to his lap. What Harry couldn't see was what he should be doing. Did Draco want to be held, want to have his hand taken? Despite his words, did he want Harry to say something reassuring? Should he be ushered into bed, or maybe a hot shower? Had he had dinner, did he need to eat? Should Harry fetch the box of truffles, or would it seem crass to give him a gift, given the circumstances?

"It's not bloody fair!" Draco burst out, startling Harry. "My father, he didn't do anything, nothing that everyone else wasn't doing. He was hardly high in command, close to Voldemort only by proximity, only as a—a punching bag, a toy. He threatened my father every day with the death of Mother, of me, if he didn't do as the Dark Lord asked. We—we were all just a pawn in his game. So few Death Eaters meant what they were doing. Bellatrix, Barty Crouch Jr., Wormtail. Those are the ones who should be put on trial, but they're dead. Of course. The rest of us were just—just following orders, trying to stay in Voldemort's good graces, otherwise—"

"Draco—"

"I told you, don't talk to me. This is your fault as much as the Ministry's. If you hadn't—hadn't—"

"Stopped Voldemort?"

"Yeah, if you hadn't stopped him, this wouldn't be happening." Draco put his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "I'm sure life under the Dark Lord would be _much_ better than this. My father reduced to a puppet, Mother having to bear the humiliation of falling so far, and me, what? Growing up to replace Father as Voldemort's plaything. My mad aunt Bellatrix killing and torturing as she saw fit, no one left to hold her in check. Death Eaters tearing through London, through all of England, destroying everything in their path. I—I'm not, I mean I don't—" Draco paused.

"I know you don't want that," Harry said.

"Well what if I did?" Draco snapped, tears starting to fall. "Maybe it wouldn't be like that. If—if Father stood up for us, took his place at Voldemort's side—"

"You know that wouldn't happen," Harry said softly. "Voldemort doesn't forgive, he doesn't forget. I don't know what your family did to get him to treat you the way he did; for all I know, it was just for fun. But he wouldn't have changed his mind."

"Shut up," Draco said through his tears.

"And I know you. I know you're not evil, I know you don't want what he did. You lowered your wand."

"So what if I did? I could have raised it again, if Snape and the others hadn't burst in, if Snape hadn't beaten me to it."

"Yeah, but you didn't."

Draco stared angrily into fire, crying silent tears, letting them stream down his face without bothering to wipe them away. "I should have. If it had saved my family, I should have."

"But it wouldn't have, don't you see that? Why do you suppose Voldemort chose you for that task in the first place? Because he knew you couldn't do it. He was just playing with your family, making them watch you suffer. Even if you had killed him, nothing would have changed."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Draco said in that dangerous voice, the one that made Harry nervous. "It could have changed."

"It did. With Snape killing Dumbledore. With all of Hogwarts rising to fight Voldemort. With me killing him."

"You—" Harry saw Draco was struggling for words, trying to find the right thing to say. "You let my father get away with giving Ginny Weasley Tom Riddle's diary in second year," he said, surprising Harry with the non sequitur. "You knew it was him, but you let him walk away. Can't you just—just do that again?"

"Draco, I have no control over what the Ministry does," Harry said gently.

"Of course you do!" Draco yelled. "You're the bloody Golden Boy! They'd do anything you say!" Harry squirmed in his seat and Draco slumped down. "But you wouldn't, you don't want to intervene, you think Father deserves what he gets."

"N—no, not exactly," Harry stammered. "I saw how it was, at Malfoy Manor, and I was only there once, I was hardly living with it. I saw him at the final battle. I saw him stay. I saw how haggard he was, how lost he looked, like he was waking up from a bad dream. I just—those things don't matter to the Ministry. All they want are facts, not some kid's guess at what someone else was thinking."

"You could try," Draco said, nearly whispering. "Even just a letter, or—"

"Okay," Harry interrupted. "I can send a letter. I'll even testify if they ask for me. I just don't think it'll matter."

Draco leaned his head on Harry's shoulder, burying his face in his neck, crying properly. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, feeling every sob, every shake that raked his body. "I love him," Draco said through his tears. "He's my dad. I hate him, but I love him."

"I know," Harry replied. "It's alright, you know that, right? To love him?"

"He should have stood up for us!" Draco said. "He should have sent Voldemort away, he shouldn't have just let him take us over."

"He would have been killed," Harry reminded. "Then your mum, then you. He did the best he could."

"You—you asked if he beat me," Draco said. "I think I said something blithe and dramatic, but really, it was just once. When he found out Voldemort had imprinted himself onto you, or whatever he did. Father yelled at me for not being the one, for not bringing glory to our family. How am I supposed to love a man who wanted his son to be Voldemort?" He didn't give Harry a chance to answer before continuing. "I think he just wanted the protection it would've given us. I think that's why he beat me, because he couldn't stand himself for not keeping us safe."

"I love you," Harry said.

"You—what are you talking about, Harry?" Draco asked, sobs finally quieting. Harry could feel how drained he was in how he leaned on him, how he trusted Harry to completely support him, how empty his voice was.

"I—I didn't mean to say that," Harry said, though he found he wasn't blushing, or nervous at all. "It's really inappropriate, I shouldn't have—"

"I told you to shut up. You defend my father, promise to testify on his behalf, and tell me you love me," Draco said. "I give up, Potter. I will never understand you." He curled himself onto Harry's lap, long legs hanging off, letting Harry truly, completely hold him. "Don't you dare leave me," he said.

Harry kissed the top of his head. "I'm not leaving." He didn't say anything else, just held Draco, let him finish crying. Then, when he felt the time was right, he said, "Now it's my turn to ask you something you're going to say no to. You should, especially tonight. Eventually, maybe, you might say yes. But for now you'll say no, and I need you to promise me you won't be upset at me for asking. Or ridicule me, maybe, more than be upset."

"I promise," Draco said immediately, and Harry suddenly realized just how worn out he was.

"Someday, do you think you could tell Ron and Hermione what you've told me tonight?" he asked. "I know you hate them, I know they're not your friends, but they could be, if they knew."

Draco stayed silent for a long time. "I don't know. If—if you really testify for Father, I imagine it'll all come out anyway. Put it out of your thoughts for now, okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry said. That was a far better answer than he had been suspecting, and he had no business pursuing the matter, not tonight.

"I have one more question for you," Draco said. "And I have no idea how you'll answer, so don't worry about my expectations, because there aren't any. My mother's going to the trial every day and I wanted to, but she insists on me staying at school so I don't miss any lessons. But she promised I could come for sentencing, whether it falls on a school day or not, and—"

"Of course I'll come."

Draco looked up at him. "Why? I don't understand anything you've said tonight. Can you at least explain this?"

"You need me, so I'll be there," Harry stated. "That's all. Nothing complicated."

Draco tucked his head back under Harry's. "I don't deserve you."

"I wish you'd stop saying that," Harry replied. "I'm not nearly as wonderful as everyone thinks. I've done—I had a part in Dumbledore's death, too." Draco looked up at him, shocked. "It's a story for another night," Harry said before he could ask. "Really, I'm just a boy who happened to be turned into something much greater than any one person can be. Myself, I'm just dull. I like Quidditch. I love my friends. I'll spend the rest of my life catching Death Eaters, just like hundreds have done before me. I've got a temper. I spend my spare time staring into space doing nothing at all. I'm not special at all."

"You haven't the slightest idea how wrong you are, Harry Potter."


	21. Chapter 21: The first eagle arrived

**A/N:** I'm so pleased with all the feedback from last chapter! I was super nervous about it, but the reception was almost entirely positive, and I'm so glad. I write for myself, of course, but for all of you as well, and your support is absolutely incredible.

I did have a chance to go over this one before publishing it (yay! Finally feeling better!), so hopefully there will be less stupid mistakes than usual.

Oh, and a **WARNING:** sexual situations. In order to skip them, stop reading when Harry hands Draco the box of truffles, and resume at the italicized letter to one Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Also, so, um, when you get to chapter twenty-nine, you may kill me. But everything will work out, I absolutely promise. _Promise_. I just really f*cking hate Pansy and needed a chance to show it.

One last thing; there is no dark!Harry here. There's helpful!Harry and concerned!Harry and perhaps a bit of blinded-by-emotions!Harry, but I don't write dark!Harry ever, so don't worry about that. My deepest apologies if anything has come across that way; I'll be more careful in the future.

**Chapter Twenty-One:**

_**The first eagle arrived at breakfast.**_

Harry and Draco were lying in bed together in their customary position, Harry on his back, Draco curled around him, Harry's arm anchoring him tightly. The entire bed smelled like Draco's vanilla soap. His hair was still damp from the shower Harry had insisted on, but Harry didn't particularly mind. Draco's breathing was slow and even, but Harry highly doubted he was asleep, no matter how much flying he had done that weekend.

"It's your bloody hero complex," Draco muttered suddenly. Harry could hardly make out what he was saying, given how quietly he was talking, that his face was turned into Harry's chest, and that his words were slurred with sleep.

"Sorry, what?"

"You need to get up in front of everyone to defend Lucius Malfoy, just to prove how good you are," Draco mumbled. "Your pathetic need to show the world you're endlessly forgiving, absolutely perfect is saving my family and I hate you for it."

Harry was at an utter loss as to how to respond. "I'm sorry?" he tried. "You're welcome?"

Draco half-hearted smacked him. "Don't be fresh."

"Don't be _fresh_?" Harry said. "Who even says that?"

This time the smack was harder. "I find it more elegant than a mere 'shut up' or 'fuck off'." Harry let it go, and it was a long time before Draco spoke again. "You told me you loved me."

Harry flushed, and he was sure Draco would be able to hear his heart speed up. "I—I, yeah, I did say that."

"Did you mean it, or were you just trying to make me feel better? I don't mind one way or another, I just think I should know."

Harry ignored the blatant lie. "I'd imagine so, yeah," he said nervously. "I mean, I didn't really think it through, I just said it."

"That was the least romantic thing I've ever heard, Potter," Draco said, feigning anger that covered up actual annoyance, and, Harry thought, a bit of fear.

"Here," Harry said, leaning over and causing Draco to let out indignant noises as he was squished. "Look. I bought you chocolates."

Draco took the small box and opened it, the enchanted ribbon that held it closed flying over to the bedside table. "Let's see," Draco said, as if evaluating one of Harry's potions, or the contents of something far more important and less romantic than a box of chocolates. "I see double chocolate, coconut, peanut butter, raspberry—"

"Oh, good, Luna said those are the best," Harry interrupted.

"—caramel and peppermint. Interesting choices."

"Draco, they came in a box, I didn't pick them out," Harry said, feeling judged. "I dunno, I saw the box, and I thought of you."

Draco kissed his cheek. "That was very sweet." He picked out the raspberry chocolate, something Harry would need to remember to tell Luna. "Would you care for a bite?"

Harry stared at the tiny truffle. "There are two bites in it?"

Draco grinned wickedly. "If you do it right." He gently bit the chocolate and kissed Harry. Draco bit down, raspberry center and chocolate filling their mouths. Harry hummed quietly, licking the filling off Draco's tongue as Draco sucked Harry's lips, getting every last bit of chocolate. "I daresay," Draco said, pulling away, "that was quite delicious. And I think enough for now." He set the box down, and the ribbon retied itself. "Not nearly enough of you, though," he said, looking entirely predatory.

"Draco, wait," Harry said, hating his words before they even came out of his mouth. "After everything you've been through—"

"I need a good fuck," Draco interrupted. "Not literally, you can stop looking at me like that. But I swear to god, Harry, if you don't let me touch you, there will be hell to pay." Harry didn't have time to answer before Draco slid onto his lap, grabbed his face and began kissing him, almost desperately. Harry couldn't stop the moan that came out of his mouth; they were both still naked from the shower, and his cock was nestled perfectly between Draco's cheeks. He thrust up experimentally, and Draco groaned.

"Don't do that," he breathed, pulling away just enough that he could talk. "Not if you don't want to go farther."

"You were the one who positioned yourself like this," Harry replied, making tiny movements with his hips, enough to make Draco lose his breath entirely.

"I—my mistake," he managed. He slid off Harry, bringing him down with him, and moaned again. Now their cocks were brushing against each other's, and Draco dug his fingers into Harry's arms, biting his lower lip, eyes closed in concentration.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, still moving against him. "This is for you, tell me what you need."

Draco whimpered at his words. "You," he breathed. "I need you, I need you to never stop, never get off me, never let me go."

"I won't," Harry said, moving his hips faster, having to work to keep his own breathing even, to make sure his sentences came out correctly. "But now, right now, what do you want?"

Draco bit his lip again, chewing nervously, and his eyes were still closed. "What are you willing to do?"

Harry didn't know the answer to that. His brain was clouded with arousal, the only clear thought was that Draco needed him, needed this. He didn't want to have sex, that was the other thing he knew. That deserved a better night than this, one with a fancy dinner and candles. "I don't—"

Draco whimpered again. "Then just whatever you want," he said, voice heady with need. "I don't care Harry, just make me feel good, make me forget."

The part of Harry that could still think started to panic. He wasn't good at this, had never really even done it before. Draco needed someone far more experienced than him. "Draco, I really don't think—"

Draco sighed in annoyance. "No, you don't. Shut up and do something."

Harry pressed his lips to Draco's. He still tasted of chocolate and raspberries, still smelled of vanilla, and still had the undeniable _Draco_ that Harry was addicted to. His slid his hand down Draco's chest, wrapping a hand around him, stroking. Draco responded immediately, moaning, thrusting up to meet every stroke. But it wasn't enough, Harry knew it wasn't. Draco needed to be overwhelmed, to lose himself. He slid lower, kissing everywhere, licking him, renewing the bruises on his neck and collarbone that had faded after a week of fighting, feeling every gasp, every tiny, uncontrolled jolt that he caused. Draco realized his intention before he even started, a clear sign that Harry wasn't doing his job well enough, not if Draco could think that clearly.

"Harry, no, you don't have to," Draco managed, though his body was saying something else entirely. "I know this is new for you, that you get scared off easily, don't—"

"Shut up," Harry said. "I won't do anything I don't want to do." Still, Draco's hands fluttered at his shoulders, torn between pulling him up and pushing him down. Harry arrived at his hips, trying not to notice how they much they jutted out. Draco had hardly eaten all week, and it showed. He licked and he nibbled, knowing how sensitive those spots were. Draco was making the most delicious sounds, and Harry almost wasn't scared as he took Draco into his mouth and sucked. Draco let out a loud moan and dug his fingers into Harry's shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises. "Oh, Harry, Merlin, Christ, don't stop," Draco gasped.

Harry felt something wash over him, rendering him entirely comfortable. It felt completely natural, as if he had been doing this his whole life. He took as much of him into his mouth as he could, sucking and licking, then moving back up, swirling his tongue around his head, licking at the slit—which earned him a delicious moan—and finding that he loved the taste of him. He used his hands where his mouth couldn't reach, feeling the silky smoothness, the absolute hardness. He reached down, cupping his balls, stroking them. And then, still not feeling nervous, moved his hand farther back, running his finger over his hole. Draco froze, his breath catching, and then he started shaking and moaning, variations Harry hadn't heard before.

"I—I'm not sure," Harry stammered. "Do you need—?"

"I'm fine," Draco gasped. "It's fine, just keep it at one finger."

Harry took him back in his mouth, sucked hard at on his head as he slipped a finger inside. Draco's hips were jerking uncontrollably and he was making a high, keening noise, thrusting further into Harry's mouth, pushing him further inside.

"Curl you finger," he moaned. "Up—no, not there, just to the right—" He cut off as Harry found the spot, first going silent and then letting out a guttural moan, voice cracking partway through. "Yes, Harry, right there, Merlin, _fuck_, don't you _dare_ stop—" He cut off in another moan. "Wait, no, Harry, do stop, pull back—"

Harry didn't stop, didn't want this to end that way. He felt Draco tense beneath him, around him, shaking and jerking and thrusting uncontrollably. Then he screamed, and Harry felt his mouth flooded with warm, sticky, salty liquid. He swallowed as best he could, though some managed to slide down his chin. Harry continued until Draco stilled completely, though his gasps remained, as well as a stray shiver or two. Harry moved back up to lie next to him and Draco found his lips immediately, kissing him utterly senseless.

"I love you," Draco said, finally getting his breathing under control. He reached up and wiped away what Harry had missed. "I can't believe you did that."

Harry's brows furrowed. "You're still talking," he said. "I think I've done it wrong."

Draco laughed throatily. "You did it perfectly," he said. "I just have a remarkable talent with words."

"I'll fix that one of these days," Harry replied, kissing him again, almost chastely. Draco started to snuggle into his arms, but Harry pulled away, earning himself a hurt look. "Just a second," he said, going to the couch and grabbing a spare piece of parchment and a quill. "I've got a letter to send."

_To Kingsley Shacklebolt—_

_I believe I have information pertinent to the trial of Lucius Malfoy. If at all possible, I would like to provide testimony on the matter._

Harry stared at the note. It seemed short, incomplete, but he didn't know what to add.

_Regards,_

_Harry J. Potter_

He put the letter in an envelope and addressed it to the Ministry, assuming it would end up in the right place. "Draco, have you got a way of summoning Capry?" he asked. "I don't fancy a walk to the Owlery."

"Nor do I want you to leave," Draco said. "Hand me the letter, and my wand. It's in my overnight bag; probably should've taken it out of my bag before I left it to be laundered." Harry handed him the necessary materials. "_Ire invenire Capry_," he said, and the letter flew out the window. "That ought to do it. Now get back into bed."

Harry was woken early by a sharp tapping on the window, very different from Capry's excited taps or Pig's random bangs. He groaned and stumbled out of bed, Draco making a feeble attempt at holding him back before returning to sleep. A screech owl flew into the room and landed importantly on the mantle, easily avoiding Harry's photographs. Harry untied the letter from its leg and it took off, letting out a shriek as it soared out the window.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Draco yelled, voice only slightly muffled by his pillow.

"An owl from the Ministry," Harry said, opening the envelope with shaking hands.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Regarding your letter sent to Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, on 16 September—_

_If you feel you have information relevant to the trial of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, we invite your testimony with open ears. You have been written in to testify at nine in the morning on the day of 21 September; this date is subject to change regarding trial proceedings. If this is inconvenient to you, please send an owl as quickly as possible, but be aware it is most likely impossible to reschedule._

_Thank you for your interest in the trials,_

_Gertrude Barker,_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

"Well, I guess that's that, then," Harry said, passing the letter to Draco. "The 21st; that's, what, this Friday?"

Draco nodded, and Harry thought he was taking much more time than necessary to read the letter. "So you're really going to do this, then."

"Yeah, seems I am."

Draco hugged him with surprising strength. "Thank you."

"Yeah, it's nothing," Harry said, feeling as if it was, in fact, a very big something. What's more, it was something he couldn't talk to Ron or Hermione about, and Harry didn't feel voicing his concerns to Draco would improve the situation.

"What time's it?" Draco said, handing the letter back to Harry.

"Uh, six-thirty," Harry replied. He sat the letter on the table and ran a hand through his disorderly hair. "Fancy a game of Quidditch?" he asked. "I've got to, uh—"

"Clear your head?" Draco finished for him, and Harry nodded. "Suppose so." He slid out of bed and stretched, giving Harry a wonderful view. He let out a huge yawn. "You're going to win, though, so no betting."

"You might be asleep but I've got the weight of your entire family resting on my shoulders," Harry said, starting to get dressed. "We're even."

Draco mumbled something unintelligible, jostling Harry away from the dresser. "Fine, but not for anything of import."

"Winner gets half my chocolate stash?" Harry suggested, elbowing Draco out of the way so he could get to his socks.

"You have a chocolate stash?" Draco asked, intrigued. "In any case, that's rather daft, don't you think? If you win you're just getting something you already have, and even if I were to lose, I'm sure I can find ways of getting chocolate out of you."

"Would you just get out of the bloody way so I can get a pair of pants?"

Draco smirked. "I don't know, Harry, I rather like you sans pants."

"Oh yes, I'm sure riding a broomstick without pants on would be a joyous experience," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Now shove off, and let me get dressed."

The Quidditch game was genuinely enjoyable. They had settled on the winner having the right to dictate any place in the castle to make out, no matter how public, and if Harry let Draco win, well, that hardly mattered. Draco was smug at first, listing off all the possibilities—McGonagall's desk, Whisp's classroom, the Great Hall—but as they neared the front doors, he got steadily quieter and quieter, and they walked to the Great Hall together in silence, holding hands. Harry started in, but Draco held him back.

"Must we sit with your friends?" he asked, looking pained. "Just this once can't it be just the two of us?"

"Uh, yeah, of course," Harry said, scanning the room for a row of empty seats.

"Come on, we can sit at the Slytherin table," Draco said, leading him over to a cluster of empty seats. "Nobody's going to sit anywhere near me, it'll be private enough."

Halfway through a mostly silent breakfast, the eagle from the other day swooped over to them, and Draco hastily unwrapped the note, holding it so Harry could see it as well.

_My dearest Draco—_

_I send you this note as I walk out the door, one last prayer between mother and son. Think of your father, and think of him often. He will feel your love, and it will give him strength. Send Carus back soon; I will owl you as often as I can._

_And Harry—thank you. You have no idea what your support means to our family._

_Love and kisses,_

_Mum._

"She never signs her notes 'mum'," Draco said rather numbly, turning paler than usual. "It's always Mother."

Harry took his hand and Draco grabbed it, squeezing as tightly as he could. "It'll be okay," Harry said, knowing his words were empty.

Draco gave his hand a final squeeze and took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

_Mother—_

_Thank you for thinking of me, when all your thoughts should be with Father. He will be in my heart and my head every day until this nightmare is over._

_Harry_

He hovered for a moment, then continued.

_Harry offered his assistance, I did not ask for it. But he is pleased to do anything he can to help. He will be testifying Friday._

_Kisses,_

_Draco._

He tied the letter to Carus' leg, and the eagle flew away. Harry leaned his head on Draco's shoulder, wishing for more contact but knowing he couldn't in the Hall, and certainly not with Blaise and Pansy eyeing them the way they were.

"I—it's actually happening, isn't it?" Draco said blankly. "My dad's going to Azkaban."

"You don't know that," Harry insisted. "Kingsley is a good man, you couldn't ask for a fairer trial."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Potions seemed to move in stops at starts; one minute they were pouring Harry's potion into the cauldron and Slughorn was congratulating them yet again, the next they were brewing something Harry didn't catch, he was just following Draco's orders, and then they were leaving.

"I'll see you at lunch," Harry said.

Draco nodded vacantly. "Have a good—what is it you've got now?"

"Muggle Studies," Harry said with a grimace.

"Then enjoy your nap." Draco swept into the crowd without another word.

This time they sat with Ron, Hermione, Neville and Aurora. Harry was extremely pleased to see Neville and Aurora sitting next to each other closer than they should have been, but most of his attention was focused on Draco, and he didn't have the wherewithal to track their conversation. His friends didn't know what was going on and wisely didn't ask, largely leaving Draco alone, only talking to him long enough to offer a jug of pumpkin juice, or an offer of rolls. Draco seemed a little more aware of himself than he had this morning, and accepted both with a vague "Thanks".

Halfway through lunch Luna floated over and sat next to Draco. "I'm sorry about your father," she said.

Draco jerked, and it was Harry's quick reflexes that prevented his glass of pumpkin juice from being knocked over. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly.

"Why, his trial, of course," Luna said. "My father is a journalist, and he knows all about it."

Draco's jaw clenched, eyes staring straight ahead, avoiding Luna completely. The others had stopped talking as well, and Harry was desperate to change the conversation, but he didn't know how.

"He thinks it won't last long," Luna said, and while Harry thought she meant it as comforting, Draco clearly did not take it that way. "Do you think a copy of the Quibbler would cheer him up?" she asked. "I can have my father send him one, free of charge."

Draco stood up and swept out of the hallway with another word. Harry turned to glare at Luna. "Do you really think that's helpful?"

"I imagine so," she replied, and her dreamy tone which Harry usually found rather pleasant was now infuriating.

"He didn't want anybody to know," Harry snapped. "Why do you think he was so quiet during lunch?"

"Perhaps he was daydreaming," Luna replied. "That's how I spend much of my time. And I hardly think he could keep it a secret; it will be all over the papers, I'm sure." This had not occurred to Harry or, as far as he knew, Draco. Missing something so obvious only made him angrier.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. "Leave Luna alone. It's not her fault."

"No, of course not," Harry yelled, attracting the attention of most of the table. "Blurting out secrets like that, anyone with half a brain would know better." He slammed his fork down and grabbed his bag, storming down to Hagrid's hut, despite class not starting for another half hour. He collapsed on the grass behind Hagrid's hut, hoping he wouldn't be seen and forced into an explanation, and began angrily pulling up the grass. Harry knew Hermione was right, Luna was just trying to be nice, but it didn't make him feel any better; in contrary, he felt worse, for having yelled at her. So he took it out on the grass, like any reasonable wizard would.


	22. Chapter 22: In which Lucius Malfoy is

**A/N:** First, a quick note regarding the sonnet: again, written by me, Nicholas Skyes still does not exist. And thank you for all the lovely comments on the last one I included; sonnets are my pet project, and validation is just so lovely.

Also, well, hmm. Not sure how to phrase this. I feel the need to remind my readers that Lucius served no time in Azkaban for his actions from either the first or second war, despite a brief stint in the middle, and that perhaps he isn't as bad as some of you suspect. I've always had a soft spot for him in my heart, and while I don't expect to convert anyone to a different side, just keep in mind he's far from the worst out there, as well as being the father of our treasured Draco.

Anyways, that's all. He's not really in this chapter at all, though Harry's testimony will be next chapter. I try as hard as I can to keep everyone in character, and none of the decisions I or Harry makes are made lightly.

Oh, one last thing: chapter twenty-four is exceedingly graphic, and I believe I will be publishing that chapter on Google Docs, including only the first few paragraphs and a link in place of the full chapter. I haven't completely figured this thing out yet, but I'd be devastated if my account was suspended, so, to be on the safe side, it will almost certainly be published elsewhere.

Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-Two:**

_**In which Lucius is braver than us all.**_

Neville came down to Hagrid's a few minutes later and sat next to Harry. He stayed silent, which Harry was extremely grateful for. The last thing he needed was to talk to Neville about the trials, not when Lucius' family had so directly affected him.

"How're things with Aurora?" Harry asked eventually. "You seemed chummy at lunch."

"They're good," Neville said. "I still don't know if we're dating or not, and I haven't gotten a chance to talk to Hermione about it yet, but I think it's good."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Ron and Hermione appeared later, still well before class was scheduled to start. They joined Harry and Neville on the grass, sitting close enough that they were bumping shoulders but otherwise keeping physical intimacy to a minimum.

"D'you want to talk about it?" Ron asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?" Hermione said, and Harry could tell by her tone of voice she was about to go off. "Because talking can really help, and-"

"Draco asked me not to, so I won't."

There was another lengthy pause.

"Did he like the truffles?" Neville asked.

Harry smiled a little. "Yeah. A lot. We—er, never mind."

"How could truffles—?"

Hermione elbowed Ron. "Don't ask," she muttered. "I'm certain you don't want to know."

Luna arrived next with a group of Ravenclaws, but she broke off from them to sit with Harry. "I'm sorry if I've offended you," she said lightly. "I've been told I'm not very good at offering comfort."

Again, Harry smiled slightly. "It's okay," he said. "Sorry for yelling at you."

"It's quite alright," she replied. "Though you should probably stop pulling the grass out before Hagrid arrives. I don't think he would appreciate it."

That was a very reasonable point, and Harry began shredding the pile of grass he had already removed instead. Slowly the rest of the class gathered, and by the time Hagrid emerged from his hut, the pile of grass in front of Harry was reduced to tiny slivers.

"Everyone gather round," Hagrid said. "I've got something special to show yeh today!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged a nervous look. Special was not a word to be taken lightly when coming from Hagrid.

"Oh, an' don't forget to grab a pair o' earmuffs."

Harry nearly sprinted to the Room of Requirement after class, but Draco wasn't there. Thinking he might not have bothered to run to the room Harry sat in on the couch and amused himself by changing the color of the fire in the fireplace. But when Draco still hadn't shown up fifteen minutes later, Harry's stomach started to knot, and he was on his way to the Owlery before he realized what he was doing.

_Where are you? Everything okay?_

Harry called Capry to him, tied the note to his leg, and watched him fly away, feeling rather like he was going to throw up. But Capry returned quickly enough, and with a return note.

_Mother said Father named two Death Eaters not on record. They'll have to be investigated, of course, and verified, but it's not the worst start._

_I'm doing Potions in the dungeons. I'll owl you when I'm done._

Harry chewed on his lip anxiously. The news about Lucius Malfoy was, as Draco said, not the worst, but it wasn't the best, either. Draco clearly wanted to be left alone, which made Harry anxious, but he supposed he understood. Goodness knows he had spent his fair share of time brooding around the castle.

Harry was on his way to Gryffindor Tower when he ran into Ron and Hermione, nearly literally.

"Oh! Hello, Harry!" Hermione said, rather startled. "I would have thought you'd be with Draco."

Harry shook his head. "Homework?"

"We were just heading to the library," Hermione said. "I've got about three days worth of research to squeeze into one night, not to mention the resulting essay."

"Brilliant," Harry replied and followed his friends, again grateful they had picked up on his desire not to talk. They settled at a desk together, though Hermione immediately disappeared behind the stacks of books.

"Everything alright?" Ron asked quietly, opening his Charms book.

"Yeah, fine," Harry said vaguely. He stared blankly at the wall for at least five minutes before remembering he ought to be working. He took out his Transfiguration book and began reading the chapter McGonagall had assigned, forcing himself to not just look at the words but actually comprehend their meaning. Eventually Hermione returned with a stack of books that, once she sat down, was significantly taller than her. They varied in subject from Herbology to Potions to Ancient Runes, and Harry couldn't think of a class that necessitated such different books, but he didn't have the energy to ask.

The hours spent in the library were good, all in all. At the very least they were quiet, and Harry got his Transfiguration essay out of the way. He even thought it wasn't half bad, given how distracted he was. Just before they were about to go down to dinner Capry appeared, knocking over Hermione's stack of books, landing on Ron's papers and sending them flying everywhere, hooting loudly.

"_Absolutely no owls in the library!"_ Madame Pince yelled. "I should think that obvious!"

Hermione cast a quick silencing spell before retrieving her books.

"Bloody hell, why didn't I think of that sooner?" Harry asked as he untied the note.

_Dinner in ten? I got another note from Mother; one of the names Father said has already been verified. Come alone, if you can. I don't think I can stand another meal with that Lovegood creature._

"Draco's dad named a new Death Eater," Harry said, spirits lightening despite the jab at Luna. He scrawled a quick response, and sent Capry on his way.

"That's good," Hermione said. "The more we catch, the better."

Right. Harry had forgotten about that bit; he had been so wrapped up in Lucius' outcome he had forgotten the basics of this phase of the trial. "Yeah, of course. Wonder who it was."

"Maybe Parkinson's family," Ron said hopefully. "D'you think they'd yank her out of school if they were accused? I'm so bloody sick of the looks she gives you, Harry."

"O—oh?" Harry stammered. "I hadn't noticed."

Ron stared at him as if he were daft. "Every time you and Malfoy are in the same room she does nothing but glare at you. I think she's just a wee bit upset that you've stolen her meal ticket."

"He's not a meal ticket," Harry said angrily as they left the library and started towards the Great Hall.

"I _know_ that," Ron said, still as if he was talking to a complete idiot. "That's my point."

"Maybe it's Zabini," Hermione mused. "He's always made me uncomfortable, the way he stares. I'd hardly be surprised if his parents were Death Eaters."

Harry was almost at the Gryffindor table when he remembered he'd told Draco they could eat separately. "Er, I'm gonna go find Draco, yeah?"

"Give him our best," Hermione said.

"Don't think he'd believe it if I did," Harry replied. "See you later." He was so busy scanning the room for Draco that when he felt a hand on his shoulder he nearly jumped.

"Gosh, Potter, I wouldn't think you'd startle so easily," Draco drawled, coming to stand by his side. "I thought you were made of better stock than that."

"Sod off," Harry said pleasantly. "How was Potions?"

"Good, I finished our homework," Draco said, leading him over to an empty corner of the Slytherin table. Harry glanced at Pansy as he passed her; Ron was right, she was giving him quite the glare. He had to resist the sudden, ridiculous urge to stick his tongue out at her. "You should probably still go over the potion though, since Slughorn said we'd be using it as a base ingredient for class Wednesday. You did hear him say that, right? I swear, sometimes you spend that whole class staring at me. It's flattering, but you're going to fail if you don't start paying attention."

Using one potion to brew another? Harry was not excited by the concept, and he took a minute to hope whoever Neville was partnered with knew what they were doing.

"Don't look so scared, Potter, it's common enough in advanced potions. I imagine it will become the basis of the term, if not the year."

"Fantastic," Harry said.

"As long as you've got me by your side you'll be fine," Draco said. Then he smiled, and Harry's stomach flipped. He knew that smile well enough by now; something sexual was about to be said. "Speaking of having you by my side, I believe I owe you for last night."

Harry flushed. He had been so preoccupied by the beginning of Lucius' trial he had nearly forgotten. "Consider it a gift," he mumbled. "A distraction to get you through the next few weeks."

"No, no," Draco said mildly. "I won't have that, not after everything you're doing for me." He paused. "I do believe that came out wrong. I'd want to shag you within an inch of your life regardless of the state of my family affairs."

Harry's blush darkened. "Good to know."

"Harry, I'm serious." Draco took one of his hands, massaging gently, and Harry saw he was even blushing a little. "I know I've been incredibly difficult, that's why I didn't invite you to do potions with me. I needed some time to blow off steam." He smiled slightly. "And perhaps explode a few stray ingredients left out. If Slughorn asks about scorch marks on some of the desks, it wasn't me. But I'm getting distracted; my point is that you've been fantastically understanding, and I've noticed, even if I haven't said anything before now. So, y'know, thank you."

Harry kissed him so quickly it almost didn't happen. "Don't worry about it," he said.

"You don't understand," Draco said. "My family—I was raised a certain way, much of which was less than savory. But I was taught what you'd call old-school values; bowing as a sign of respect, opening doors and pulling out chairs for one's partner, and to acknowledge and thank others for any help or kindness offered. I've been doing quite the opposite; yelling at you, throwing inkwells at your head, demanding sexual favors—"

"Draco, you never—"

"Shut up, I did, and I've been feeling awful about it all day." Draco let out an annoyed huff. "See? You've got me swearing at you again. My point is that my behavior has been inexcusable, and I apologize."

Harry was entirely thrown by this speech. It shouldn't have surprised him; it was so very, very Malfoy of Draco, but he still didn't agree, not entirely. "You're allowed to be upset," Harry said firmly. "In fact, I'd be worried if you weren't. And you did _not_ make me do anything I didn't want to do, so get that out of your pretty little head."

"Would you just accept the bloody apology?" Draco snapped, then caught himself. "I mean—"

"Yes, you're forgiven, but only for how you yelled at me, and what you said to Hermione last week, not for being upset. Alright?"

Draco considered this. "Alright. But I'm still going to pay you back for last night." Harry saw a shiver run through him, and had to conceal a pleased smile. "Merlin, Harry…"

"Not now. You can tell me all about it when Pansy and Blaise aren't boring holes in the back of my head," Harry said.

Draco did pay him back, in spades. After a failed attempt at Quidditch—the Ravenclaws were practicing, and they got yelled off the field as accused spies—they returned to the Room of Requirement, and Draco refused to let Harry do his Charms homework until he deemed the favor returned, by which time Harry was no longer in any state to do homework. Draco summoned his book of poetry and collected a rather incapacitated Harry onto his lap.

"Shall I read you poetry?" Draco asked. "Or are you going to fall asleep on me, rendering my narration useless?"

"Mm, you can try," Harry said sleepily, snuggling into Draco's lap. "Or y'could do my Charms essay for me."

"That I will not do," Draco said. "But I will read you a poem. Just one, mind you, and then I'm afraid you'll have to write that pesky essay. I've even got the perfect poem picked out already."

"Nicholas Skyes?" Harry mumbled.

"Of course. It always is, you needn't ask."

_By vespertine light my love doth recline_

_In somnolence brought by mine effleurage_

_I never did see such a sight as fine_

_And forever since his heart be mine cage_

_By the lacustrine waves my love did lie_

_The scene doth call for nocturnes to be limned_

_For words alone could not say what mine eye_

_Could see before my memory did dimmed._

_By all the gods that doth in heaven live_

_I begged for the memory eternal_

_But worthy I was not and my mind a sieve_

_That night did slip, though love ever vernal._

_By the light of a new dawn mine eidetic_

_Thoughts do fail me; I'm left with but a trick._

"Now," Draco said firmly, closing his book. "Get off me, put on some clothes, and do your Charms essay."

Harry groaned. "From now on you're only allowed to read me sonnets when I'm not expected to do anything else after."

"That is a remarkably wise decision, Potter."

Breakfast Tuesday morning arrived with no further news. Draco fidgeted all through Transfigurations and was practically a wreck when Harry saw him again at lunch. He consented to sit with the Gryffindors both times, mostly because he was too distracted to protest, surprising everyone by participating in conversation without a single snide remark. Harry thought it had to do more with Draco's, as he put it, old-school reflexes to charm anyone around him than with an actual acceptance of Harry's friends, but he didn't press the matter.

Harry and Ron had Herbology after lunch while Draco had the rest of the afternoon free, and they agreed to meet up at the Quidditch pitch after class. Ron had been right; no house had scheduled practice for a time usually reserved for classes. Draco went through the motions of retrieving his broom and setting the snitch free while Ron began arguing with Harry.

"I'm not a Seeker," he said as they walked into the changing rooms. "I haven't got a chance against you and Malfoy."

"Then why did you agree to play with us?" Harry asked, grabbing his Firebolt.

"I—I don't know," Ron spattered. "Hermione was going on about how I was supposed to be nice, and get to know him, and it just sort of happened. You were the one who suggested it," he said accusingly. "You've both got Firebolts, haven't you? This is hopeless."

"Ron, you're being daft," Harry said. "You're on the team, remember? Just use a house broom."

"Oh. Right." Ron lightened a bit at that, but by the time they were out on the field, he was sporting an expression somewhere between embarrassment, fear and disdain.

"So, what'll it be for stakes?" Harry asked. Neither of the other boys were any paying attention to him. Draco was scanning the skies, looking for Carus, and Ron was busy sizing him up. "Hey!" Harry snapped, falling back into his old roll of Captaining so easily he didn't notice it happening. "We're here to play a game of Quidditch, alright? Not to stand around and mope, Draco, and Ron, you will not psyche yourself out of playing." Draco and Ron were at least looking at him, though Draco's eyes looked rather glazed over, and Ron looked a bit like he was going to throw up, but Harry felt that was as good as he was going to get. "Now. Stakes. Anyone got any ideas?"

"Galleons," Draco said immediately. "I haven't got the wherewithal to think of anything else, and you're useless at it." Harry glanced at Ron, trying to be surreptitious, and failing. Draco smirked. "Right, I forgot some of us are ill-equipped for such a bet."

Ron glowered at him, and Harry chose that moment to step in. "Maybe it'll be best to just play for fun," he suggested. "A practice run, before any serious competition."

"I find that dreadfully dull, Potter, I've told you a hundred times," Malfoy said. "Why doesn't the Weasel think of something?"

"Don't bloody call me that," Ron snapped.

"I'll call you whatever I like," Draco countered. "Or you'll, what? Make yourself sick up slugs again? That was rather amusing, and goodness knows I could use a laugh."

"Shut it, both of you," Harry cut in. "Nobody is getting hexed under my watch. And Draco, Ron replaced that wand years ago, don't be daft. I'm in charge of this game—"

"Says who?" Draco interrupted immediately.

"I say so," Harry replied. "And I say there will be no bet, not today. On my count." The boys mounted their brooms and, at Harry's mark, flew into the air.

Harry found looking for the snitch to be nearly impossible. Draco and Ron were continually yelling at each other, and more than once Harry had to threaten confiscating their wands until the match was over and they had calmed down. He suspected neither of them were looking for the snitch, either, and decided to take matters into his own hands. He pushed the shouting and insults out of his head, zooming around the field, wishing desperately to see the tell tale speck of gold that would end this game. He couldn't remember whose idea it had been—Ron had said it was his, but surely he wouldn't have suggested anything this daft—and all he could think was how stupid it was, and how he should have known better.

"Wait!" Draco suddenly yelled. "Time out!"

"I told you, no time outs," Harry replied angrily, not bothering to look at him.

"Harry, I think you should let him," Ron said apprehensively.

Harry wheeled his broom up to see what would cause such a drastic statement from Ron. Carus was perched on the end of Draco's broom, and Draco was steadily getting paler and paler. Harry flew over to him, putting a steading hand on his shoulder, and Draco silently passed him the note.

_My dearest Draco,_

_Your father has no more names to give, though both of the wizards he named yesterday are now in custody. Today his crimes were read to him, and he did not deny anything. A wise decision, I think, given how many witnesses there are. The Ministry seemed surprised by his willingness to speak of his actions with such candor, but I do not know how much that will help him. They had expected denials, but given that your Father offered none, they will be proceeding directly to calling witnesses tomorrow morning. Harry will no doubt receive a letter from the Ministry regarding his scheduled appearance, as I am sure it will have changed._

_Keep your father in your thoughts always._

_All my love,_

_Mum._

"That's…that's not all bad," Harry stammered, handing the note back to Draco.

"No, it's bloody brilliant," Draco replied, and Harry could see tears welling in his eyes. "He didn't even bother to defend himself. He's just given up, like he did when Voldemort appeared at our door. Some man he is." Draco snatched the letter back from Harry, crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the air. He whipped out his wand and exploded it, the resulting bang causing Harry to jump. "I suppose I've got to write Mother back now," Draco said, and began to fly away.

"Wait," Harry said, grabbing his arm. "Look. Ministry owl." Draco looked on with only the mildest of interests as the screech owl landed on Harry's broom, though he did move close enough to read the letter over Harry's shoulder.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Due to an acceleration of events, you shall be testifying at nine in the morning on the day of the 18__th__ of September. A Ministry official will greet you when you arrive to give you a Visitor's Badge and to direct you to the proper courtroom. Please arrive in a timely fashion._

_Gertrude Barker,_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

"That's tomorrow, isn't it?" Harry said nervously.

"I hear that in your voice, Potter," Draco snapped. "If you don't want to go, then don't. I daresay we can survive without you."

"Of course I'm going, don't be an idiot," Harry replied, watching as the Ministry owl took off. Carus was still on Draco's broom, waiting for his reply.

"I should probably leave," Ron said, startling Harry into remembering he was there. "Seeing as I have no idea what's going on, and you look two like you could use some time alone."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said. Draco didn't reply at all, which Harry thought was rather magnanimous, given the insults the two had been hurling at each other all game. "Do you want to finish the game?" Harry asked, turning back to Draco. "Or would you rather go owl your mum, and I'll just catch the snitch myself?"

"As long as it's quick and violent, I can manage," Draco said. "Carus, wait for me by my things." The eagle let out its loud cry and flew off the field to wait patiently on Draco's bag.

"Your birds really are incredibly well-trained," Harry said.

"That's nothing. Father's hawk can—" He cut off. "Well, he was a magnificent bird." Draco flew away, rendering the conversation complete.

The game, as promised, did not last long. Also as promised, Draco was playing the game as a full-contact sport, continually slamming into Harry, grabbing onto his broom and once elbowing him in the face, nearly knocking his glasses off. Harry grabbed his wrist in retaliation, nearly pulling both of them off their brooms.

"Let me go, Potter," Draco snapped, attempting to pull away and, when that failed, slamming into his side.

"Just leave my glasses out of this, alright? I haven't got the time to get a new pair."

"Whatever." Draco successfully jerked free from Harry and rocketed to the ground, swooping up with the snitch held high. "You sure there weren't any bets on this?" he asked teasingly, and Harry was extremely pleased to see an emotion other than fear or anger.

"Tell you what," Harry said, the two flying down side by side. "I'll give you a retroactive bet of your choice."

"You're saying I can have anything I want?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. "And you're not allowed to say no?"

Harry flushed. "Well, within reason, yes," he stammered.

"My first decree is that you go to the kitchens and fetch us some dinner, then rejoin me in the Room of Requirement to owl my mother," he said, putting the snitch away and ducking into the changing room to stash his broom. Harry followed suit, and they began walking to the castle together, Carus perched majestically on Draco's shoulder. "My second decree is that you hold my hand at all times," he said, taking Harry's hand and twining their fingers together. He let out a sigh. "It still gives me goosebumps, every time."

Harry smiled. "I'm not sure I can manage to hold your hand while I go to the kitchens and you go to our room," he said. "That's a bit of a stretch."

"Don't be daft," Draco said lightly. "I won't have you making fun of me."

"Then," Harry said as they entered the front hall, "I believe you'll have to let go of my hand." Draco looked legitimately upset, and Harry had to bite back a smile. "Or you could come to the kitchens with me."

Draco's nose wrinkled. "Hardly." He leaned down for a quick kiss, mindful of the lecture McGonagall had given them the other day. "Don't dawdle," he said when he pulled back. "That's my third decree."

"I'll be as fast as I can," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He started to walk away when he felt a strong smack to his arse. He whirled around, but Draco was walking in the other direction as if nothing had happened. Somewhere between humiliated and pleased, Harry continued to the kitchens, where the house elves quickly prepared him and Draco a feast, even going so far as to produce a basket he could use to carry it up to the Room. By the time they finished loading it up it was so heavy he nearly dropped it.

"Does Sir need two baskets?" a house elf squeaked. "To divide the load, Sir?"

"No, I'm fine," Harry said, shifting his weight slightly to accommodate. "Thanks a bunch."

The elf flushed, its entire body turning read. "Sir is very welcome! Sir can come back anytime!"

Harry returned to the Room as quickly as he could and set the basket down on the table. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"That's an awfully large basket," he said. "Did you tell them we needed food for a month?"

"Don't be silly," Harry said, sitting down next to Draco, who immediately slid over next to him and took his hand. "They're just enthusiastic."

"Right. Anyway, I've got to owl Mother," Draco said, shoving the basket to the far side of the table. There was already a piece of parchment and quill laid out, and Harry looked over his shoulder as he wrote.

_Dearest Mother,_

_I find myself surprised by your words; I would have thought Father would fight with everything he had. But perhaps he is right, choosing the higher path. We must place our trust in him, no matter what he does._

_Harry is still committed to testifying, and will take the stand tomorrow at 9 am. I will stay at Hogwarts, as per your request. My heart is with you always._

_Kisses,_

_Draco._

He tied the note to Carus' leg and sent him out the window. Then, shaking slightly, he returned to the couch, leaning on Harry, twining their fingers together. "You are very brave, Harry Potter," Draco said. "I'm sure by now you tire of hearing it, but I would be remiss if I said nothing."

Harry sat up suddenly, dislodging Draco. "How am I supposed to get to the Ministry by tomorrow morning?" he asked. "Should I Floo there from Hogsmeade? Is there a train?

"I don't know, Mother said she'd come fetch me for the sentencing," Draco replied. "Perhaps you should ask McGonagall?"

"Yeah," Harry said, standing up. He was surprised to see Draco joining him, keeping a tight hold on his hand. "You're coming?"

"I won't have you ignoring me all evening," Draco said haughtily. "First with your jaunt down to the kitchens, now on a grand expedition to find a professor. If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't want to spend any time with me at all."

"I'm doing all these things for you," Harry said, stating the obvious. "Come on, I bet I can persuade the gargoyle to let me in."

Harry was sorely mistaken. The gargoyle did not respond to him at all, regardless of how he begged, pleaded or reasoned. He was just about to go up to Gryffindor Tower to ask Heidelberg if he'd go to McGonagall's office to ask if they could come in when the witch in question appeared behind them.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, can I help you with something?"

Harry whirled around and felt Draco take a half step behind him, almost as if he were scared. "Yes, Professor, I need to talk to you."

She eyed them shrewdly, lingering especially on Draco. "Would this have anything to do with the trial currently proceeding at the Ministry?"

Draco grabbed Harry's hand again, and Harry said, "I think it would be best to talk about it in private."

"Fair enough. Move aside, please." Harry and Draco stepped to the side, and McGonagall performed a complicated series of taps on the gargoyle before it swung to the side, revealing the staircase. They ascended in silence, and it wasn't until they entered McGonagall's office that she spoke again.

"I hope you would not be surprised to learn that when a student of mine is to testify at the trial of a suspected Death Eater, I would be informed," she said.

Harry squirmed a little. It had not, in fact, occurred to him that she would already know. Draco had taken up his stance just barely behind Harry, keeping a tight grip on his hand and his eyes on McGonagall's shoes.

"Are you wondering how to get to the Ministry, then?" she asked. "Or did you come to me for advice?"

"I, uh, was wondering how to get there," Harry said, though now it felt rude to not ask for advice. "But any suggestions from you would be brilliant."

"No need for flattery, Potter. I can tell when you've made up your mind to do something, and nothing I say will change it. Nor do I expect you made this decision lightly, so I assume you already know what you're going to say.

"I have prepared a special addition to the Floo network here, in my office. It will only work tomorrow, and only between here and the Ministry, and will only respond to your voice." She looked at him sternly. "I wish I didn't have to tell you all of that, Potter, but I won't have you getting any ideas. Ideas for what I don't know, but you never fail to come up with new ways of surprising me. I shall come fetch you from the Room of Requirement at eight-thirty promptly."

Harry flushed. "Er, the Room of Requirement?" he asked. "Why would you—"

"Don't insult me, Potter. The whole school knows you two have been sleeping there. That is an issue for another day, a day not far in your future," she said. "However, put it out of your minds for now, I should think you have much more important things to contemplate this evening.

"Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"

Harry glanced at Draco, who shook his head minutely. "No, I think that's about it," Harry said.

"Alright then. See you boys tomorrow." They were about to leave when she added, "Oh, by the way, Potter, I have informed your professors that you will not be in class tomorrow due to personal issues. If you would like to divulge any further information, that is up to you."

"Thanks, Professor."

This time they were nearly out the door when McGonagall spoke again. "You are doing a very decent thing, Harry."

"Er, thanks," he said, and descended the staircase before she could say anything else. "I really wish people would stop saying that," he muttered as the gargoyle moved aside and they stepped into the corridor.

"Then you'll just have to stop being decent, won't you?" Draco said. He was trying for flippancy, but all Harry could hear in his voice was gratitude and fear.

"Come on," Harry said, feeling a bit shaken himself. McGonagall's knowledge and frankness had thrown him off guard, which, really, was entirely ridiculous. He should have realized she'd know what was going on, and would have prepared for it. But still, it was reassuring to have a staff member on his side, an adult who was aware of the situation. Harry knew that was stupid as well, that he was fully capable of handling himself, but nevertheless, he found it comforting.

"I wish Snape was here," Draco said, so quietly Harry barely heard him. "He'd testify, he'd take care of me."

"I—I've got you," Harry said. Had he really thought he could get away with not having any responsibility? Responsibility flocked to him the same way as trouble did; he just couldn't seem to avoid it. What's more, he found he didn't mind, not when it was for someone he cared so much about. "It'll be alright."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," Draco said as they entered the Room. He continued before Harry could say anything. "Thanks. I've never had the luxury of someone lying to me to make me feel better before. You've seen Mother's letters, you know how she is."

"Er, you're welcome," Harry said, sitting down on the couch and began taking things out of the basket the house elves had made. "Come here, Dray. There's sandwiches, soup, bread—"

"Did you just call me Dray?" Draco interrupted.

Harry froze, hand resting lightly on a sandwich. "Um, yes? That alright?"

"I suppose," Draco said, sitting next to Harry and unwrapping a sandwich. "I've never had a proper nickname. Father calls me his dragon when he's particularly pleased with me. And mother calls me her dearest, but only in letters. Certainly none of my friends ever called me anything other than Draco." He took a bite of the sandwich, and his eyes widened with surprise. "Peanut butter and jelly?" he said. "Why on earth would the elves do that?"

"Do you like it?" Harry asked, treating himself to a cup of still-warm soup.

"Well, yes, but…"

"Then that's why," Harry said, sipping the soup. Minestrone; his favorite.

"I haven't had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich since I was—I don't know, five, maybe? Six?" Draco took another bite. "Perhaps house elves aren't as bad as I thought."

Harry smiled, wishing Hermione could have heard him say that. "And we've got your truffles for dessert," Harry reminded him.

"Excuse me," Draco replied haughtily. "_I've_ got my truffles for dessert. And you've got that giant lot of candy in the sock drawer, so don't bother complaining."

"I thought you might want to share a truffle," Harry said, a glint in his eye.

"No, I'm keeping the rest for myself," Draco said. "You and I can come up with other things to do. Speaking of, what did you get at Venus and Eros?"

Harry blushed furiously. "Um. A book. And vanilla-flavored…well, you know. And, um, handcuffs."

"Vanilla flavored what?" Draco asked, no signs of anything other than mild interest on his face. "Condoms? Lube? Body paint? You've got to be more specific."

Harry's blush darkened. "Lube."

"Alright then," Draco replied. "Was it really so bad, going into such a store? I would think it good for you, maybe loosen you up a bit."

Harry chose not to comment. He certainly didn't want to tell Draco that he had made Hermione go with him, nor that she had picked everything out, other than which flavor to buy.

"Never mind, it's not important tonight," Draco said. "I haven't let you do any homework at all today—though actually, I suppose you can skip it, since you haven't got class tomorrow. But still, you need to get up early, and I won't be responsible for keeping you up all night."

"I wish you could come with me," Harry said quietly. The last time he had been to a trial it had been his own, and Dumbledore had been with him. Of course, it wasn't he who was on trial this time, nor was he facing anything as simple as expulsion. No, the stakes were much higher, even if they were not his own. He supposed seeing Kingsley would be a comfort, even though he'd be conducting the trial. He didn't know Gertrude Barker, hadn't even heard of her until she owled him, and couldn't guess her disposition at all. At least Umbridge wouldn't be there this time.

"Yeah, me too. But Mother insists on me remaining here, and I will not upset her any more than she already is." Draco sighed, and put down his half-eaten sandwich. "I'm not very hungry," he said. "I think I'll read in bed." He started to strip, and added, "Harry, I see you heading over to my bed with your food. Haven't you learnt any manners?"

"_Your_ bed?" Harry asked. "I won't eat on your _side_, how about that?"

Draco scowled at him, arms crossed, entirely naked except for his boxers and socks. Harry had to bite back a laugh at how adorable he looked. "You shall not eat in _our _bed, then. It's disgusting and vulgar and I won't have it."

"Then you—" Harry said, pointing his spoon at Draco, "—will read on the couch until I'm done eating."

Draco looked pained. "It's _cold._ I want to be under the _blankets_."

Harry shrugged, nearly slopping soup out the side of the bowl. "Your choice." Draco finished getting undressed, and Harry found his interest in his dinner fading quite rapidly. Draco saw this, and smirked. "No," Harry said, brandishing his spoon again. "You will not talk me out of eating dinner. I need my strength for tomorrow."

"I didn't say a thing," Draco replied. He sauntered over to the fireplace and stretched, entirely aware of how he looked in the firelight. "Finish your soup, then. Enjoy it. I'll be waiting for you in bed."

Harry, needless to say, did not finish his soup.


	23. Chapter 23: Harry's Testimony

**A/N: **Alright, all you Lucius-haters out there, take your best shot. For everyone who thinks Harry has become a pathetic wimp, go ahead. As for the rest of you, do enjoy the chapter. It was terribly stressful and difficult to write, but I did the best I could. I might have taken some liberties with the court system, we weren't offered too much information in the books, and I'm sure some has flown out of my head, but I did my best to keep it as accurate as I could.

Also, a quick warning: the next chapter will only have the first few pages published here, followed by a link to Google Docs, where the rest of the story will be waiting for you. I'm afraid my fear of getting my account frozen has outweighed my desire to publish everything here, and the extremely explicit scenes will reside on Google Docs. I haven't done that before, so there may be some snafus, but I'll try to make it as smooth and easy as possible.

**Chapter Twenty-Three:**

_**Harry's Testimony.**_

Despite not having set an alarm, the clock on the mantle began letting out a horrible screeching at six-thirty. Harry and Draco both reached for their wands, and their combined spells reduced the clock to ash. Harry fell back into bed, wand in hand, staring at the canopy. Slytherin colors. He hadn't even noticed.

"How're you feeling?" Draco asked.

"I should be asking you that," Harry replied. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and putting his glasses on. The world came into focus; sadly, his thoughts did not. "Think I ought to take a shower," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"Use the yellow bottle," Draco instructed. "If anything can get your hair to behave, it'll be that."

"Thanks," Harry said. He shuffled into the bathroom and stared blearily at the water cascading down before actually getting in the shower. Despite the shock of the alarm, he was still mostly asleep, and simple tasks such as cleaning himself and shampooing his hair seemed beyond him. At least this sleep-induced stupor didn't allow for any thought, and his mind remained blissfully blank as he slowly performed his shower ritual, nearly forgetting to use whatever was in the yellow bottle. It, like Draco's soap, smelled of vanilla, and Harry's first completely rational thought of the day was that he liked smelling like Draco.

He stepped out from under the water, put his glasses back on, and looked in the fog-resistant mirror. He thought he looked very small and insignificant indeed, though his hair did seem to be less unruly than usual. He ran a comb through it, toweled off, and returned to the bedroom. Draco had moved from the bed to the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and was holding the picture of his parents in his hands.

"Dress robes, do you think?" Harry asked. "Merlin, I don't even know where they are."

"A closet appeared over there in the middle of the night," Draco said, gesturing to a corner. "Dunno what's in it, though."

Harry found an assortment of formal robes, ranging in color from blazing Gryffindor scarlet and gold to the silvery Slytherin green and, in one corner, a dark grey ensemble he assumed was meant for today. He pulled it on, feeling entirely out of sorts. There was a mirror on the inside of the door, and he assessed himself. He looked…_business-like_. And his hair was still lying flat, despite drying off. All of this, so he could testify on behalf of Lucius Malfoy. He was too confused by the situation to be nervous.

Harry joined Draco on the couch, and Draco pushed a pile of sandwiches at him. "Here. Eat. It won't do my father any good if you pass out in the middle of testifying, and I seem to recall you not finishing your dinner last night."

"That was your fault," Harry said, but he did manage to choke down a sandwich.

"Eat another," Draco insisted, doing a remarkable impression of Mrs. Weasley. "Harry, I'm serious. You need all the strength you can get."

Harry found this more than anything else made him nervous. Draco insisting on his health was so foreign to him, something must be drastically wrong. Harry did eat a second sandwich, washing it down with some pumpkin juice. "No more," he said. "I already feel like I'm going to throw up."

Draco briefly rested a hand on Harry's leg. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a slight tremor in his voice that did not escape Harry's notice.

Harry stared into the fireplace, watching the low flames dance. _I've just got to tell them what I saw_, Harry reminded himself. _That's all there is to it. Stick to the facts. You'll be fine. Kingsley is a good man._ The words became a mantra, and Harry didn't know how long had passed before Carus appeared, settling on the table in front of Harry.

"It's for me?" he asked rather stupidly. Carus cawed quietly and held his leg out to Harry. "Er, thanks," he said, untying the note. Then he was gone, flying out the window before Harry even had a chance to unfold the paper.

_Harry—_

_We are utterly undeserving of the kindness you are bestowing on us, and our family will forever be in your debt. The Ministry dictates that I am not allowed to speak to any witnesses before they testify, so I thank you here, in writing._

_No matter what happens, Lucius and I know that you will do your best._

_Good luck, Harry._

—_Narcissa Malfoy_

The letter did not settle his nerves; on the contrary, it made him even more anxious. It wasn't just some random wizard he was helping, it was this woman's husband, his _boyfriend_'s father. What if he got laughed off the stand, what then? Or—or what if he did get Lucius off, and he returned to the dark ways? Then he'd be responsible for setting a known Death Eater free.

"Mother has never been as comforting as she'd like to think," Draco said.

"Er, no, it's good to hear from her," Harry lied.

Draco ran a hand through Harry's hair, settling any stray bits. "That conditioner did wonders for you," he said. "You look almost respectable."

"Almost? Brilliant."

"Don't worry, nobody's ever seen you look respectable," Draco replied. "You aren't held to the standards some wizards are. I daresay you could saunter in wearing nothing but a bathrobe and carpet slippers, and, as long as you flashed your scar, nobody would notice."

Harry thought back to his trial, when Arabella Figg had indeed appeared in a bathrobe and carpet slippers. Maybe he was over thinking how he looked.

"Besides, I think you look terribly handsome," Draco said, not quite managing his usual predatory smile. "If you didn't need to remain presentable, I should think I'd ravish you immediately."

"Thanks," Harry said, running his hands through his hair. It was rather smooth, and silky.

"Stop messing with it," Draco huffed, rearranging it to his satisfaction. "And here, I found a croissant in the bottom of the basket. Eat it."

"Draco, really, I can't," Harry said. "My stomach's a bloody wreck. You wouldn't want me throwing up in front of everyone, would you?"

Draco sighed, and ripped the croissant in half. "Here. Please. For me."

Harry, having neither the energy nor wherewithal to argue, took the half that Draco offered him and nibbled on the edge. "Wonder what time it is."

Draco conjured a clock where their old one had been. "Eight-fifteen," he said, and Harry could see every muscle tighten. "McGonagall should be here soon."

Harry set the croissant down and brushed any crumbs off his lap. He began pacing the room, his default reaction to stress. He almost wanted to sit next to Draco, but he was hardly in a position to give comfort, nor was Harry in one to offer it.

On his third lap around the room, Pig appeared, landing on the windowsill sporting a newspaper that was far too big for him to carry.

"Merlin, what now?" Harry mumbled, taking the paper. Pig disappeared out the window as Harry read.

**HARRY POTTER: THE GOODEST OF THE GOOD, OR THE BADDEST OF THE BAD?**

With the continuing trials of Death Eaters following the destruction of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, one would hardly be surprised to see the famed Harry Potter's name on the list of witnesses. But what might surprise you is which side the young wizard is testifying for.

Sources have divulged that this very morning Potter will be appearing on behalf of Lucius Malfoy, infamous Death Eater, and one who is already no stranger to Azkaban. What could cause such a great wizard to stoop to such levels?

"_I hear Potter and [Draco] Malfoy have been secretly dating for years,"_ one source tells this writer. Could this possibly be true? And if it is, are we seeing a Romeo and Juliet situation, the famed muggle couple doomed to tragedy by warring families, or is something much darker at work here? Is it possible that we have all misjudged Harry Potter from the beginning, and that he has secretly been working aside He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named this entire time? What if the infamous duel that occurred at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last spring was merely a show, so He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could go back into hiding until his powers returned?

Regardless of any associations with the Dark Lord, it is clear that Potter is sympathetic to the plight of Lucius Malfoy. Or perhaps he is merely using this trial to remain in the spotlight, to squeeze one last ounce of fame out of the world before disappearing into obscurity. For what could capture the public's eye more than such a great wizard setting aside old quarrels to prove once and for all he is the true Golden Boy?

What any of this means this writer can only guess. Stay tuned for a special post-trial issue of _The Daily Prophet_ detailing Potter's testimony.

Beneath the article was a picture of Harry and Draco embracing in the kitchens. "Fucking brilliant," Harry said, throwing the paper to Draco so he could read it. "How many times have I been accused of working alongside Voldemort now? And in the same breath as accusing me of having a fucking hero complex twice the size of Europe?"

Draco scanned the article. "That must be the picture Father got," he said. "And don't worry about what the paper says, Harry. You should know by now it's utter nonsense."

"Give it back to me," he snapped, yanking the paper from Draco's hands. "_Wingardium leviosa_," he said, and the paper rose several feet above Harry's head. "_Parvula lacrimam_." The paper began to tear itself into tiny shreds, soon creating an odd sort of confetti hovering about their ceiling. Draco watched for a moment or two before turning back to the picture of his parents.

There was a knock on the door and Harry jerked, the bits of paper falling to the ground. He nearly sprinted over to the door and threw it open. Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was standing in front of him, looking considerably less severe than usual.

"That would be today's issue of _The Daily Prophet_, I assume?" she said, eyeing the scattered scraps.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, feeling a bit foolish.

"I don't read the thing myself," she said, taking out her wand. "_Recedio_." The papers swooped over to the fireplace and turned to ash. "Much better than coming home to a mess, I think. Mr. Malfoy, is that you beneath the assemblage of blankets?" Draco muttered an affirmative. "I suppose your manners can be excused this morning," McGonagall replied. She turned to face Harry. "You look quite respectable. Well done. Are you ready to go?"

Harry glanced at Draco, who didn't look away from the photograph. "Yeah, I suppose so." He was almost at the door before he said, "Wait," and ran back over to Draco. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and squeezed him as hard as he could. "I love you," Harry whispered, and kissed his cheek before returning to McGonagall's side. "Alright. Let's go."

They walked through the castle in silence, not saying anything until Harry had Floo powder in his hand and was about to step into the fireplace.

"Good luck, Potter," McGonagall said.

Harry took a deep breath. "Thanks." He stepped into the fireplace, through the powder into the fire, and yelled, "Ministry of Magic!"

Harry stumbled out of a different fireplace, nearly falling. It had been ages since he'd travelled by Floo, and if it weren't for a young wizard standing close by, he would have sprawled to the ground.

"Harry Potter, I assume?" the wizard asked.

"Er, yeah," Harry said. Then, remembering where he was and what he was doing, he straightened his robes and said again, "Yes, I'm Harry Potter."

"Very good," the wizard replied. "Here is your badge. You must wear it affixed to the outside of your robe at all times. It already has a sticking charm on it, you don't have to get out your wand." Harry, feeling a bit silly, put his wand away and stuck the badge to his robes. "Now follow me; we're going all the way down Courtroom Ten."

Harry's stomach clenched. Courtroom Ten? Why did it always have to be Courtroom Ten?

"I'm Alonso Carter, by the way," the wizard said as they walked into the elevator, accompanied by a fluttering of memos above their heads and a disgruntled goblin. "Intern at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Harry shook his hand awkwardly. "It's quite an honor to meet you," he said.

"Um, thanks," Harry said. "D'you know why we're going all the way down to Courtroom Ten?"

"That's where Death Eaters are always put on trial," Alonso replied. "The other, less intimidating rooms are saved for smaller issues. There's a whole hierarchy; it's rather complicated."

"I see," Harry replied. The elevator stopped, the goblin and some of the memos got off, replaced by an elderly witch who looked as if she was about to fall over, or perhaps fall asleep. She had feather white hair pulled back into a severe bun reminiscent of McGonagall's, and was wearing elegant, slate grey robes, almost the color of Draco's eyes, but not nearly as reassuring.

"Good morning, Ms. Barker," Alonso said. Harry couldn't help staring. _This_ was Gertrude Barker? Then she turned around, and Harry saw how sharp her eyes were, and that the hand resting on a mahogany cane was clearly very strong indeed.

"To you as well, Alonso," she replied before turning her attention to Harry. He had to fight the urge to shuffle his feet, or twine his hands together, or move at all. Never had he felt more scrutinized. "This is Mr. Potter, I presume?"

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, holding out his hand.

She stared at it, contemplated, and finally took it in a firm shake. "I'm sure you understand why we can't talk, even the nonsense that's spoken in elevators," she said, releasing her grip.

"O-of course," Harry stuttered. She eyed him shrewdly, then faced forward again. Harry cursed himself. That was hardly the impression he had meant to give. The elevator opened once more, at the Department of Ministries, before arriving on the bottom floor. The three of them exited, but Alonso held Harry back.

"Best to let her get ahead," he whispered. "It would hardly be fitting for you two to walk in together."

What was it about being at the Ministry that always made Harry feel incredibly dull? He allowed himself a few moments of fidgeting as Gertrude Barker descended the staircase and turned a corner.

"Right, I think we should be good. Come on, now." Alonso led the way, though Harry could have walked it himself. He had only been here once, but the memory of his trial would forever be burned in his mind. They reached the courtroom door and Harry was about to go in when Alonso swatted his hand down, looking at Harry as if he was daft. "You will wait out here, on this bench, until your name is called," he said sternly. "Honestly, thinking you could just go barging in like that. Do you have any idea of the chaos you could have caused?"

Harry flushed darkly. "Sorry," he said quietly, sitting on the bench.

"I will fetch you when the time comes." Alonso opened the door and slipped inside, closing it before Harry could see anything.

The corridor was deathly silent. Harry would have thought there would be at least some noise, but he couldn't even catch an echo of conversation halls away. He tried tapping his feet on the floor, but that only made him more anxious. He thought briefly of Draco before pushing him out of his mind. He didn't know if Lucius had access to the Prophet or not, but the newspaper itself was hardly necessary for word to get around. Besides, Draco was currently—or, at least the last time Harry had seen him—curled up on the couch in a pile of blankets looking at a photograph of his parents and trying not to cry. That was not a comforting image.

Instead, Harry settled on going over Quidditch moves. The Wronski Feint. Bludger Backbeat. Hawskhead Attacking Formation. His team had won a game once because of that one. Harry's mind started to go blank, and he didn't fight it.

Suddenly, what felt simultaneously like several hours and no more than a few seconds later, the door opened and Alonso poked his head out. "You're up."

Harry stood, taking a deep breath and smoothing his robes. _I can do this_, he thought, following Alonso through the door. _I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. Wronski Feint, I can do this._

"Harry!" Alonso whispered sharply. "Did you not hear me?"

Harry flushed. Off to a brilliant start. "No, sorry, what?"

"Walk down these stairs and sit in the chair next to the accused. Mr. Kingsley and Ms. Barker will be questioning you. When they are done with you, walk back up these stairs and leave. The Ministry does not allow witnesses to watch the trial. I trust you can find your way back to the elevator?"

Harry nodded.

"Right then. Go on, they're waiting for you."

Harry descended the stairs, scanning the seats for anyone he knew. The only familiar face he saw was Narcissa Malfoy, who offered him a strained smile before returning her gaze to the front of the room. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and by the time he arrived at his seat, Ms. Barker was scowling at him.

"The rumors are true; you are not known for your punctuality, Mr. Potter."

Harry flushed. "Sorry, ma'am."

"Don't ma'am me, young man," she said severely. "My name is Gertrude Barker, and I will be addressed as such. You will call me as Ms. Barker, and nothing else."

"Yes, Ms. Barker," Harry said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

He glanced to his right. Lucius Malfoy was sitting in the chair Harry had once sat in, and he was relieved to see that the wrist bindings hung loosely from the arms of the chair, rather than wrapped around his wrists. Lucius himself looked awful. If Harry had thought he looked haggard at the final battle, he must not have known the definition of the word. His cheeks were sunken and hollow and peppered with dull grey stubble. His hair still fell past his shoulders, but it looked dingy and maybe even tangled. His eyes were the worst though—deep slate pits, the same color as his son's but with none of the life or vivacity Draco had. Still, he sat tall and proud, head raised in defiance of his position. He didn't look at Harry at all, not even a stray glance.

"Let us begin," Kingsley said, and Harry's eyes were drawn to him. He sat high, elevated significantly off the floor, and was wearing his traditional purple robes. His voice wasn't exactly kind, but nor was it harsh, or intimidating. "You have been called here on the 16th of September to testify on behalf of Lucius Malfoy, accused Death Eater. You are Harry James Potter, of Grimmauld Place, London, England, yes?"

Harry noted he didn't say the number of his house, and felt relief over something he hadn't even thought to worry about. "Yes, sir."

"Very good." Kingsley shuffled his papers, took out a quill, and looked down at Harry. "You may proceed."

Harry had thought they would ask him questions, rather than simply let him tell his story. "Er, well, last year, I was at—"

"Date, please," Ms. Barker interrupted.

Harry had to think very hard about this. "Around Easter," he said. "We were living on the road, and I'm not sure of the exact—"

"That's enough," she said, interrupting again. "You may continue your story."

"Well, we were brought to Malfoy Manor—"

"We?" Ms. Barker said. "You and who else?"

"Ron—er, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger." This was going to be extremely difficult if he wasn't allowed to finish a sentence. Already he was having to fight against confusion, and the questioning had barely begun.

"You said brought to the Manor," Ms. Barker continued. "By whom?"

"A group of Snatchers, I don't know their names," Harry said.

"Continue."

"So we were brought in, and Hermione had disguised me and Ron so we weren't recognizable. Lucius Malfoy was there, along with his son and his wife, and her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. We were brought into the dungeons where—wait, no, that's not important," Harry said, stammering over his words. "I mean, it is, but—"

"Perhaps not to the matter at hand," Kingsley said, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Having Kingsley here was as much of a good omen as Harry could hope for.

"Right. Well, while we were there, I saw how Mr. Malfoy looked, and how he acted, and he wasn't himself."

"Are you suggesting Mr. Malfoy was under the influence of the Imperius Curse?" Ms. Barker asked, looking at him over her glasses.

"N-no, not like that," Harry said. "It's just, he—"

"He what, Mr. Potter?" she prompted severely.

"He didn't look right!" Harry burst out. "He used to be so commanding and arrogant and self-important, and all of that was gone. He looked broken down, beaten and defeated, like he had lost all hope."

"So you've come before us to say that Mr. Malfoy was affected by the war?" Ms. Barker asked, sounding rather astonished, and Harry heard the Wizengamot behind him stifling laughter.

"No!" Harry replied angrily. "Well, yes, but—"

"Get your story straight, Mr. Potter," she said. "We haven't got all day."

"His manor had been taken over by other wizards, darker wizards," Harry said. "Like Bellatrix, who was allowed to run rampant. She tortured Hermione, and killed—"

"Bellatrix Lestrange is not on trial today, Mr. Potter," Kingsley said. "Please stick to relevant information."

"What I mean to say," Harry said, trying to gather himself, "is that Mr. Malfoy was under the influence of other wizards—not that he was cursed, but that he was being made to follow orders."

"And what evidence do you have to back this up?" Ms. Barker asked.

"Er—" Harry stammered. "Well, during the final battle—"

"One thing at a time, Mr. Potter," Kingsley said. "Do you have any evidence to influence your claims, or are you expecting us to blindly trust you?"

Silence hovered in the air, as loud as any words Harry could say. "Well, no, not specifically, but—"

"Then we shall move on from your encounter at Malfoy Manor," Kingsley said definitively. "You mentioned the final battle?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Mr. Malfoy was there, and even though he stood next to Voldemort, he didn't curse anyone, or participate in the battle at all. He stayed with Voldemort only long enough to ensure Draco—er, his son, Draconius Malfoy's safety, and then—well, I'm not exactly sure what, but he stayed at Hogwarts, even after Voldemort had been defeated. Unlike all the other Death Eaters, who were either killed or ran away, Mr. Malfoy stayed."

"I see," Kingsley said. "And what is your evidence of this?"

"I was there," Harry said firmly. "I was with Voldemort almost the whole time, and I saw what Mr. Malfoy did. And after Voldemort was killed, I saw him in the Great Hall, sitting with Mrs. Malfoy and his son."

There was quiet muttering among the Wizengamot as Kingsley and Ms. Barker carefully notated Harry's testimony, and whispered to each other. Finally Kingsley turned back to Harry.

"Do you have anything else to say?"

Harry raked his brain, trying to think of anything, any tiny, minuscule fact he knew that would help. He knew that Voldemort had taken over the Mansion, that he had decreed Draco be the one to kill Dumbledore, that the Malfoys had spent every day in fear that their son would be killed, but he didn't have any evidence, and he wisely assumed wasting their time with anecdotes he had heard second hand would not earn Lucius any favors.

"Just that everything Mr. Malfoy did was to protect his family," Harry said. "And no, I haven't got any evidence for that, but I know it's true. And if you—if you talk to the right people, they'll tell you."

"And which right people would those be?" Ms. Barker asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, quickly picking Narcissa out due to the white streak in her hair. Her face remained impassive. Harry turned back to Kingsley and Ms. Barker.

"Ask his family," Harry said. "Mrs. Malfoy, Draco—"

"Families are not allowed to testify for or against each other," Ms. Barker interrupted. "Have you got any other names for us, or have we wandered back into the land of the unconfirmed?"

"Ollivander," Harry said suddenly. "Mr. Ollivander, the wand maker. He was imprisoned in the Manor for nearly a year, I'm sure he saw something. Dean Thomas was there as well, and Luna Lovegood."

The names were written down. "I don't think we will need to call on your friends, Mr. Potter," Kingsley said, not unkindly. "Unless they have the proof which you so clearly lack, they will be of no help. Do you have any reason to believe they would have anything to share beyond a story?"

Harry's hands were gripping his legs, sure to leave bruises. "No," he said through clenched teeth. "Not that I know of."

"And do you have anything else to say?" Kingsley asked. "Any further evidence pertinent to this trial?"

Harry chewed on his lip, thinking as hard as he could. _I'm in love with his son!_ a voice in the back of his head screamed. _You can't send him to Azkaban, I love his son too much!_

"No, sir."

"Very well, you may leave."

Harry stood up and found his legs were shaking. He walked up the stairs and out the door before collapsing on the bench, not sure if he could make it any farther.

"Have a rough time of it?"

Harry jumped. He hadn't even noticed the witch sitting next to him. "Uh, yeah," he said.

"Must be hard being the first one to go," she replied. "They've got nothing to back your stories, you see? No other testimony to compare it to. It almost certainly wasn't as bad as you think."

Harry continued to stare at her. She had long, dark brown hair and purple eyes, and there was something familiar about her, but Harry couldn't place it. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"Andromeda Tonks," she said, holding out her hand. "I believe you knew my daughter, Nymphadora?"

Harry shook her hand rather numbly. "Uh, yeah, I did. What're you doing testifying for Lucius Malfoy?"

She smiled knowingly. "The same thing as you, I imagine. Sticking up for family, whether they want us to or not."

"I thought family wasn't allowed to testify," Harry said.

Mrs. Tonks waved her arm. "I've been blasted off the family portrait and nobody's spoken to me for years. I'm not considered family anymore. Besides, at worst, I'm his wife's sister. That law generally applies only immediate family and those currently living in the house."

The door creaked open, and Alonso stuck his head out. "Mrs. Tonks, they're ready for you."

"Thank you," she said, rising. "And don't worry Harry, everything always works out alright in the end."

She disappeared into the courtroom, and it took Harry a good ten minutes to recover from the combination of testifying and his conversation with Tonks' mother. But sitting here in this cold, dark hallway for the rest of the day would help no one, and, once he felt he could stand, he walked back to the elevators, retracing the steps he would never forget. The elevator ride seemed to take no time at all—Harry barely heard the excited conversation between two middle-aged wizards—and he walked over to the Floo fireplaces somewhat apprehensively. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, hesitating. McGonagall hadn't told him what to say to get back to her office. McGonagall's Office? Hogwarts? Harry decided on both. He stepped into the fireplace, threw down the powder, and yelled, "Professor McGonagall's Office, Hogwarts!"

Again, he nearly fell as exited on the other end, but this time there was someone to catch him.

"Easy there, Potter," McGonagall said. Harry found he was never more grateful to hear a familiar voice and, before he could think it through, he hugged her, squeezing tightly before realizing what he was doing. He backed up quickly, nearly tripping over her chair, and she had to grab his elbow to keep him from falling. "I take it your testimony did not go well?" she said with a raised eyebrow.

"I have no idea," Harry said. "They're very intimidating; makes it hard to talk. Oh, and I ran into Tonks' mum. She was testifying after me."

"You never know who will come out of the woodwork to save a friend," McGonagall said. "Sit. Drink this."

Harry did as she said. The drink was hot chocolate, though he thought he could feel the burn of something stronger in the back of his throat. "Thanks, Professor," he said, slowly sipping the hot chocolate.

"Not at all," she replied brusquely. "Not even Dumbledore grew used to testifying, and Merlin knows he's done it more than any of us."

"Really?" Harry asked, glancing at the sleeping portrait of Dumbledore. "He seemed so calm at my trial."

"Well yes, he would, wouldn't he?" McGonagall said. "He'd never want you to see him worried. In fact, I'd be astonished if you had ever seen him as such."

Harry thought about it. "Definitely not often," he said. He finished his drink, and set it on her desk.

"Coasters, Potter!" McGonagall said, instantly raising the mug off her desk and onto a coaster. "Anxiety is no cause to be lax in one's manners!"

"Right, sorry," Harry said, standing up. "I think I should probably go."

"Yes, I imagine a certain Malfoy here in this castle is awaiting your return," she replied. "Go on, then."

"Thanks for everything, Professor," Harry said.

"I said go on," she said sternly, but Harry thought he saw the tips of her ears turn pink. "Wouldn't want to keep Draco waiting, now would you?"

"No, Professor." He stepped onto the staircase, wondering what on earth he was going to tell Draco.


	24. Chapter 24: All the way

**A/N: **Okay, so here we go! This is an experiment; I've never used Google Docs like this before, so if you get several notifications of the publication of this chapter, that's me fixing anything that might go wrong, and I apologize. I _think_ it should work the first time, but we'll have to see.

Also, this should be obvious, but if you don't want the sexy times, don't click the link, yes?

Also, I nearly forgot: You guys, I've got over 200 reviews! You are all amazing, I love you so much

**NOTE:** Regarding all of the linking nonsense: I have finally gotten something reasonable to work, and it is at the end of the page. In order to keep everything looking neat and tidy, I'm going to take down this chapter, as well as the interim chapter 25, and repost all of this. I'm sorry for all the notifications and bullshit and everything, but it's all working now, I am nearly 100% sure.

**Chapter Twenty-Four:**

_**All the way.**_

Harry stood outside the door of the Room of Requirements for long minutes, debating what he was going to say to Draco. If he had already read the second _Prophet_, and if for once the paper had printed the truth, he would already know. In the more likely scenario that he didn't already know—or that the _Prophet_ was spewing out utter bollocks as usual—it would be up to Harry to describe the trial to Draco. Actually, even if the _Prophet_ had reported a word-for-word, completely unbiased account, no doubt Draco would want to hear it again from him.

_If I could testify in the first place, I can tell Draco what happened_, Harry thought. And, with momentary braveness, he opened the door.

"Draco?" Harry asked quietly. He wasn't immediately evident, but there was a rather large pile of blankets on the couch, and Harry assumed Draco was beneath them. "Draco, hon?"

Draco moaned, the one that meant he had just woken up. "Since when do you use pet names?"

"Er, I dunno, since now," Harry replied awkwardly. "Any news from the _Prophet_?"

"No, not yet," he replied, still not coming out of his cocoon. "I'm afraid you'll have to tell me all about it yourself."

Doing his best to make it not sound as catastrophic as he felt it had been, Harry told him what had happened. He didn't actually look at Draco as he talked, instead busying himself with getting out of the stuffy dress robes and into jeans and a tee shirt. He left out how many times he had been interrupted, how often he was accused of not having any evidence, instead focusing on the facts he had presented, and the surprise of meeting Andromeda Tonks, and her hopeful words.

"So really," Draco said when Harry finished, "you said nothing at all. Nothing other than the ramblings of the supposed Golden Boy."

Harry had hoped it wouldn't be so obvious. "Um. I think it might have helped, some. They didn't seem to know that Mr. Malfoy—er, your dad—didn't fight during the final battle, or that he stayed afterwards. That was helpful." He finally turned to face Draco, and found he was utterly wrapped in blankets, except for his head, which was sticking out just enough for Harry to see. "And, y'know, like Mrs. Tonks said, I was the first witness, and the more they hear, the more people will back me up."

"I'm sure we can trust the rest of my father's life to a _Tonks_," Draco sneered. "Nothing wrong with that, no, not at all."

"Would you lay off my friends?" Harry snapped. "You don't see me going around insulting Pansy and Blaise and Goyle. Just keep your mouth shut if you've got to."

Draco glared at him. "You're supposed to be making me feel better."

"Then stop being a prat!" Harry said. "And aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Skipped," Draco replied. "But I sent our potion to Slughorn, so, y'know, we should get credit for it."

Harry let out a sigh. There was no room for him on the couch, not with all the blankets, so he pushed the table out of the way and sat on the floor in front of Draco. "Alright," Harry said quietly. "It's alright. What do you want to do, then? Lie on the couch all day? Maybe a game of Quidditch? Or even just a walk around campus?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "I'm waiting for word from Mother," he said as if Carus hadn't found them on the playing field just yesterday. "You could always just kiss me senseless until Carus gets back." So Harry did, though it was only another minute or two until the eagle flew through the window.

_My dearest Draco—_

_Please tell Harry his testimony went far better than he thinks. Aurors are out investigating his claims as we speak, including the ones that Barker woman wrote off as insignificant nonsense. I'm sure it will mean nothing to him, but the name Harry Potter still carries quite an influence at the Ministry._

_Then Andromeda—my sister, do you remember her?—went next, more as a character reference than anything else, citing times from Lucius' early years, and some on how he was bewitched during the first war, though of course she wasn't there for that. But still, I think she helped._

_Currently the trial is in recess. It's supposed to be a secret, but a friend told me they're debating the use of Pensieves as evidence, in which case Bella herself can testify. You must know what that would mean, darling. Your father would almost certainly be let go!_

_Keep your fingers crossed, my dear, and your father in your heart._

_All my love,_

_Mum._

"That would be brilliant!" Harry said. "Everything I said about my time at the Manor, it would all be—"

"It's never going to happen," Draco said, letting the note fall to the floor. "They had this debate during the last war, and the Wizengamot voted against it. Too unreliable, they said. And they are not a group known for changing their minds."

"Yeah, but maybe—"

"Shut up, Harry!" Draco yelled. "Just shut it!"

Harry kissed him again, and that helped, for a while, until Pig flew back through the window, carrying a second copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Harry took it from his mouth, carefully keeping the headline covered. "Do you want to just toss it?" he asked. "I can chuck it in the fireplace without reading a single word."

Draco groaned. "Might as well see the damage."

**LUNACY OR LOGIC?**

**Harry Potter's Testimony**

"_He didn't look right!"_

Harry Potter's words echoed through the courtroom. Was he suggesting Lucius Malfoy had been under the Imperius Curse, or some new, dark way of controlling someone? No. He claimed that Malfoy was merely following orders, an excuse so tired it means nothing. And, when asked if he had evidence of this supposed blackmailing, all he had to say for himself was _"Well, no."_

Fine words coming from such a famed mouth. I think we were all expecting more from Potter's testimony. No doubt some of us were assuming he would change his mind at the last minute, or that it he had planned it all along, to get himself on the stand and reveal untold evils Malfoy had committed, before, during and after the war. Surely others were expecting an elegant speech, complete with countless exhibits to show the court. But no, he did neither. Instead he stammered his way through the questioning, an embarrassment to wizards everywhere, not to mention painful to watch.

Where does this leave Lucius Malfoy? Even more humiliated than before, his future even bleaker. When even the Golden Boy cannot find the words to express innocence, there is surely no hope left.

"It—it wasn't as bad as all that," Harry said when they were finished reading. "Really, Draco, you know how the press is. They jump on every little thing, they only care about selling papers. It doesn't mean anything.

Pig flew back into their room, causing Draco to completely cover himself in blankets. _"I won't read another bloody paper!"_ he yelled, muffled. _"Tell your bloody friends to stop sending them!"_

"It's not that," Harry said. "It's just a note from Hermione. She said she'd thought we'd want to read the articles as soon as possible, and from a friend. She says she's sorry, and that the paper is daft, and we oughtn't listen to it."

Draco stuck his head out, rather like a turtle. "Really?" he asked, eyes hard. "She's being…nice? To me?"

"You can read the note yourself if you'd like," Harry offered, holding it out.

Draco knocked his hand aside. "Don't be daft. I haven't got the energy to read anything else. Get on the couch with me, would you? It's been dreadfully lonely without you."

"Draco, there's no way I'll fit, not with all those blankets."

"You really are just so very, very daft, Potter," Draco said. He removed his hand from the blankets and waved his wand at the couch. "_Engorgio!_" The whole couch grew, which Harry could see Draco wasn't expecting, and the room grew with it. He was no longer cuddled up against the back, but sitting in the middle of a raft-sized bed of pillows, with only bits of couch left around the edges.

"Y'know, we could've just gotten back in bed," Harry said.

"I didn't want to get up," Draco said stiffly, pushing himself back into the corner. "Now come here." The blankets opened up, just enough to allow Harry in. Then Draco's arm closed around him, drawing them together, submerging Harry in his blankets. "Isn't that better?" Draco said quietly, lips brushing against Harry's ear.

"Mm," Harry sighed.

"Harry," Draco said, surprised. "You're shaking. Why're you shaking?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, I testified on behalf of an accused Death Eater this morning," Harry said. "And I made a fool of myself in front of the entire Wizengamot, not to mention _The Daily Prophet_. It's been quite a day."

"You're shaking," Draco repeated softly, gently. "Roll over so I can see you properly." Harry did as he was instructed. Draco's hands were on his face, tracing his scar, the strong line of his jaw, his cheekbones, running a finger down the nose he had broken twice now. "I forget, sometimes, about other people." Harry nearly laughed; that was the understatement of the century. "What you did couldn't have been easy, and yet you did it, for me." He kissed Harry, gently but firmly, keeping his mouth closed and their lips pressed together for a long, long time. His hands still fluttered over Harry's face before finally settling at the back of his neck. Eventually Harry pulled away, Draco whimpering in protest. Harry took Draco's face in his hands, bringing their foreheads together.

"I love you," Harry said firmly. "I'm shaking because I did all this for you, and because I love you. I realized it on the stand, but I could hardly say that then, could I? And besides, I should say it to you, not to Kingsley and Barker. I love you."

"You're incredibly daft," Draco said. "I know I've said that a lot today, but it bears saying. Utterly _daft_."

"Shut up," Harry said. "If I'm daft, so're you."

"No, no," Draco replied haughtily. "I love someone entirely reasonable. You, my friend, have found the most difficult, impossible, potentially-evil person you could possibly imagine, and you've gone and—and fallen in love with him." Draco's voice cracked, just slightly, at the end. He reached up and hit Harry on the head. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Harry caught his wrist, keeping a tight hold on it. "I've never been one for picking proper dates," he said. "Cho was in love with Cedric, Ginny's just…just not for me, and now I've got you. Anyway, why're you complaining?"

"I'm not—you just—" Draco sputtered. "Let go of my hand."

"_Shan't_," Harry replied, sounding as haughty as he could, earning himself a laugh. Instead he began kissing the underside of Draco's wrist, lightly at first, just barely brushing his lips across the sensitive skin, then started scraping his teeth along the veins, gently nipping. Draco sighed, closing his eyes and pushing himself against Harry. Harry kept his hand on Draco's wrist but moved his mouth back to his lips, kissing him with everything he had.

"Let me go," Draco sighed. "I need to feel you, that you're really here, that you've just said all that to me. What if I'm dreaming, what then? Waiting for you to get back from testifying or, worse, my first night back, when I was alone in the dorms, shunned by everyone I had been friends with? You've got to give me my hand back so I know you're here."

"I'm here," Harry whispered, letting Draco's wrist go.

"Here and daft," Draco agreed, sliding his hand down Harry's back, playing with the bottom of his shirt, running his hands over the skin between his shirt and his jeans. "You'll always be daft, Potter. I'm afraid it's a permanent condition with you."

_Continued: __Freaking finally: bit DOT ly SLASH Wg1GCH_

_I am so sorry for all the goddamned nonsense surrounding this, but here you go. **Please note: **you do not need a Google/Gmail account to access the story. Just copy and paste the URL, replace the DOT with a period and the SLASH with a right facing slash and remove the spaces. Works every time._


	25. Chapter 25: The beginning of a potential

**A/N: **First off, a big thank you to everyone who stuck with me yesterday! I know it was a huge mess and a bit of a disaster, but everything worked out in the end and now next time (chapterthirtythree) we will both be prepared! And, as a special treat, given how wonderful you all were, I've decided to give you some brief hints (not spoilers!) of things coming up. Feel free to skip them, I just couldn't think of any other sort of thank you gift ^^

26: Dates! And fluff!

27: More dates! And even fluffier fluff! Neville fans, this is for you.

28: Ooh, hmm, this is tricky to summarize without spoilers. I'll just leave you with the chapter title: _The second room_.

29: You are all going to hate me and stop reading but I swear to god, everything works out. Blame Pansy Parkinson. Also, Bludgers.

30: About half of you will stop reading, declaring it unrealistic. I have prepared myself. Fallout from c.29.

31: A little bit of silliness, a little bit of seriousness. Ron is in fine form.

32: Returning to the Ministry. I'll leave you to guess why.

33: Sexy times. Nothin' but.

34: Hallowe'en Feast ahoy!

So, I hope that made up for yesterday, at least a little. In any case, enjoy the chapter, and thanks for sticking it out.

**Chapter Twenty-Five:**

_**The beginnings of a potential Camaraderie.**_

Carus was waiting patiently on the table when Harry and Draco emerged from their shower. Draco nearly ripped the letter in his haste to get it, and they both sat on the couch, which had returned to its normal size.

_My dearest Draco,_

_It should come as no surprise, but the Wizengamot has once again decided not to allow Pensieves as a means of testimony. They state that, since a memory cannot be questioned, it cannot be a proper witness. I had been foolish to get my hopes up, but I have faith that you did not get as ahead of yourself as I._

_Instead, we will resume tomorrow with the testimony of physical, living wizards. I believe both Mr. Borgin and Fenrir Greyback are on the books for tomorrow, though what their influence will be I hardly know. It is my hope that Greyback's disdain for us will lend credence to Harry's statement that Lucius was not able to make his own decisions, but perhaps I am wrong._

_I hardly think this bears saying, but don't listen to a word from the _Prophet_._

_Harry and Draco, I address my final sentiment to you both: take care of each other. In times of turmoil, we must all come together and offer support wherever and whenever it is needed._

_And, on a lighter note, I do believe congratulations are in order. One cannot believe every rumor flying around, especially these days, but I am quite certain that you have finally found each other. Rest assured, I could not be happier for you two._

_All my love,_

_Mum._

Harry was a bright red by the time he finished reading, and Draco was sporting a bit of a silly smile.

"I had hoped to tell her in person," Draco said. "Oh well; it was foolish of me to think it wouldn't get back to her. Anyway, I told you she'd love you, didn't I?"

"Er," Harry said, sounding rather daft. "Well. That's probably good about Greyback, isn't it? He was one of the ones I was talking about, who was using your dad, and if your mum is right, he'll be flaunting it all over the courtroom."

"I suppose so," Draco replied. "Mr. Borgin, though, that can't be good. The business with the Vanishing Cabinet, never mind everything else my father has gotten from him over the years…" Draco let out a sigh. "Well, we won't know until tomorrow, will we? Come on, get dressed, I'm starving. I haven't eaten all day."

"Harry!" Hermione said sharply. He turned to her guiltily.

"Sorry, were you saying something?"

She frowned at him. "No. I was merely wondering why you haven't been able to sit still all dinner. Is there some fantastic event taking place this evening, or are you just terribly excited about your soup?"

Harry flushed. "Er, no, homework all night." His stomach dropped at that. He hadn't realized how much work he had missed until now, and the prospect of catching up was not enjoyable.

"Then what is wrong with you? Are you sitting on a tack or—" She broke off, suddenly turning a bright red. "Er, never mind."

Harry's flush darkened and he kept his eyes on his soup.

"Or what?" Ron asked. "Never mind what?"

"You don't want to know," Hermione said quietly.

Harry spared a quick glance at Draco, who was looking quite pleased with himself. "Stop smirking," he hissed. "The whole house'll have it figured out if you don't get that look off your face."

"I told you, Potter, I haven't a problem with everyone knowing," Draco said. "In fact, I daresay it's downright rude of you to not acknowledge to your friends that you're mine."

"I've told them that, you haven't got to broadcast—"

"_Oh_," Ron broke in suddenly, turning an even brighter red than Hermione. "Er, well then." He turned back to his food, steadfastly refusing eye contact with either Harry or Draco.

"So Harry," Hermione said in an unnaturally high voice. "According to the _Prophet_, you testified on behalf of Lucius Malfoy this morning."

"Don't want to talk about it," Harry said brusquely.

"Well, Ron and I just wanted to say that we support your decision," Hermione said. "Even if _some _of us don't agree with it," she added with a pointed look at Ron. "I do wish you had told us sooner, though."

"It was a bit sudden," Harry said. "And, um, Draco didn't want me to. I didn't even know his dad was on trial until Sunday."

"For once, Potter's insisting that everything is my fault is accurate," Draco said. "I did swear him to secrecy. And, if it weren't for the bloody _Prophet_, you still wouldn't know."

"I don't like all these secrets between us," Hermione said, frowning. "Harry, you used to tell me everything."

"I'm sure you and Ron have got things you keep to yourselves," Harry replied testily. He, too, was upset about all the secrets, but now was hardly the time to talk to Hermione about it, not with Draco sitting next to him.

"Draco, we were—er, Ron and me, and then we told Harry, and he agreed—well, we were hoping that you'd spend more time with us, y'know, the four of us, hanging out," Hermione stammered. "I'm not asking you to share anything you don't want to, but, y'know, Harry's our best friend, and—"

"Why Granger, are you asking me to be your _friend_?" Draco drawled. "It's almost like asking me out, only more humiliating and childish."

Hermione flushed. "Not if you're going to be like that, we aren't."

Harry took Draco's hand, gently squeezing. "Just give it a go, would you? You said you wanted to play Ron again in chess."

Draco sighed dramatically. "That I do. But, as Harry stated so eloquently, 'homework all night'. I'm afraid our rematch will have to wait for another day."

"Then why not study with us?" Hermione said. "I've always got loads to do, and I know for a fact Ron hasn't done his Herbology essay. Besides we could, y'know, give you notes, on what you missed in class today, at least for what we've got together."

Draco looked at Harry beseechingly. "Must I?"

"I won't force you, no," Harry said. "But it'd be great if you'd try."

Draco let out another dramatic sigh. "Alright, fine. But _you_—" he said, gesturing at Ron and Hermione, "—will join _us_, in _our _room. I won't be seen in Gryffindor Tower again."

"Alright then," Hermione said, looking rather pleased with herself. Ron, however, had stayed silent through the exchange, and was glaring violently at his dinner. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Ron, you are okay with this, aren't you? Earlier you said—"

"Yes, well you were naked then, weren't you?" Ron burst out, causing Hermione's blush to return. "But fine, I'll make an effort. _Once_. And then you're not allowed to pester me any more, alright?"

Hermione kissed his cheek. "Whatever you say, dear."

They made a brief stop at Gryffindor Tower so Ron and Hermione could collect their things before returning to the Room of Requirement. For the first time in quite a while it looked significantly different—it had divided itself in two, and the room they walked into was plushy chairs and couches surrounding a large table, a fireplace larger than their old one, and both Gryffindor and Slytherin banners on the walls. The bookcase was still along one wall, though it had doubled in size, apparently collecting any books it might think useful for homework. There was a huge window over the mantle overlooking the grounds, and Harry was extremely pleased with the situation. He was also very interested in examining the other room, where he could just see a corner of their bed through the door, leaving him to wonder what else the Room had given them, especially given their previous activities.

"This is quite lovely," Hermione said, settling into one of the chairs. "I have to say, I'm a bit jealous that you two have a room that changes to suit the situation."

Harry and Draco glanced at each other. "I think we're going to be kicked out soon," Harry said, sitting opposite Hermione. He found the couch to be much more comfortable than the hard chairs in the Great Hall, and no longer needed to constantly reposition himself. "McGonagall heavily implied we would not be allowed to stay here much longer."

"I should think not," Hermione replied. "This room is supposed to be for the whole school to use, not just the two of you."

Draco sat next to Harry, eyeing him carefully.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "I've already told you, you can leave if you'd like."

"No, no, not that," Draco replied. "I'm trying to decide what I can get away with doing to you while _those _two are here."

Harry flushed. "Nothing, and I'd have you call them by their proper names, thank you."

Ron deposited himself on the chair next to Hermione's and pulled out his Herbology book. "I'm not listening to this conversation," he said. "I've got my Herbology essay to do."

"Quite right," Hermione said. "And I've got that thing for McGonagall." She pulled out a giant stack of books, the one Harry had seen in the library. She picked up the book on Ancient Runes and began flipping through it.

Harry began ticking off his work. Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology. And, if he wanted to get started on the backlog he'd created by missing both his homework and his classes, that would be rather clever of him. Eventually he decided on Herbology first; he and Ron could help each other, and it might make it less dull.

Draco settled against the arm of the couch, stretching out his legs, resting his feet on Harry's lap and taking out his Transfiguration book.

"Oi!" Harry said, trying to shove him off. "How am I supposed to get any work done like this? I can't even reach the table!"

"Not my problem," Draco replied. "I can read just fine like this."

Harry huffed, but managed to arrange his book so it was propped up on Draco's feet, and he set his Transfiguration book on the armrest and his parchment on that. "Right, Ron, what're you writing about?"

"The curative properties of the, uh, I dunno, the thing we were working on Tuesday."

"Ron, you're not even close," Hermione sighed. "It's an essay on the Tentacula and why it's spawned such a thriving black market. Do you ever pay attention?"

"I dunno, it's usually about curative properties with Herbology," Ron grumbled.

That was easy enough, especially since Harry could model his essay after Slughorn's actions sixth year, as long as he kept his name out of it. And Harry found concentrating on his homework much easier with Ron and Hermione in the room, preventing Draco from doing anything _too_ distracting. He got through his Herbology essay in record time, causing Ron to mutter angry, jealous things under his breath.

"Transfigurations, then," Draco said. "We've got it first thing, might as well get it out of the way. Besides, I've been on this same bloody paragraph for at least an hour now, I can't seem to focus." He shifted his feet on Harry's lap, and Harry clenched his hand down on Draco's ankles, preventing him from moving.

"Fine, but don't think you can distract me, too," Harry said. "Come on, then, finish reading the chapter, and then we'll see about the essay."

"It's quite easy," Hermione said, not looking up from her own essay. "As long as you understand the theory behind animal transfiguration, you'll have no problem."

"Er, right."

Draco did sit up eventually, allowing them both to write their essays on the table. Draco stayed at his end of the couch and Harry steadily moved closer until they were nearly snuggling, at which point Ron sat up straight and pointed his quill at them.

"Aha!" he said. "I told you, Harry! I said just wait and see until you've got someone of your own, then you'll understand!"

Harry kept his eyes on his essay and closed the half-inch of space between him and Draco. "Haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about, Ron."

"You yelled at me and 'Mione for being too affectionate all the time, and now, look! You and—and that _Malfoy_ are cuddling!"

"Ron, let them alone," Hermione said neutrally.

"Yeah, but—" Ron sputtered. "They—"

"Ron," Hermione said, dropping her voice. "We've done much worse than that, alright? Like when your mom walked in on—"

"Fine," Ron snapped. "Forget it."

Harry smiled. Draco's hand rested on his lower back, so lightly he could hardly feel it. "How's your essay coming, then?" Harry asked Draco. "Almost done?"

"Nearly," Draco replied. "But then I've got Muggle Studies, History of Magic and Herbology. I keep forgetting, it's never worth putting off a days' worth of work, not when it means I've got to stay up all night. It's terrible for my complexion, you know."

"So I imagine there won't be time for—"

"Oh, no there's always time for that," Draco interrupted with a smirk. "Impressive, actually, that you'd want to go again so soon—"

"That, Draco, is quite enough," Hermione said sternly. "Sit as close to each other as you'd like, but I'll not put up with hearing about your sex life while I'm doing homework, or any other time for that matter."

"Like there are times when you aren't doing homework," Ron muttered grumpily. "There. That's two feet, right?"

Hermione looked at it. "Close enough, I suppose."

"Fine then." Ron joined Harry and Draco with Transfigurations, even going so far as to—very, very begrudgingly, and through clenched teeth—ask Draco one question, once. And so the night continued, jumping from one subject to the next while Hermione resolutely worked her way through the single essay she had brought with her. Harry was even in high enough spirits to go over the potion he had missed in class without complaining, though that might have been related to how closely Draco situated himself as he explained the finer points of the brew. He and Draco copied Ron's notes from History of Magic despite Hermione telling them they ought to just read the chapter themselves, and took a few moments to practice dueling, though they did listen to Hermione when her patience finally broke and she screamed at them for knocking over her pile of books _yet again_, all while _repeatedly _slamming the back of her chair with _something_, she didn't know what.

"Well I imagine that's that," Harry said, collapsing onto the couch. Draco sat next to him, leaning his head on Harry's shoulder.

"How is it you always finish before everyone else?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes. "Let me see your essays."

"They're just fine, 'Mione," Harry countered. "Look, see Ron's finished with Transfiguration, too. It's just you who's got to spend the whole night writing."

Draco sighed. "And myself, I'm afraid. Still got Herbology and History of Magic."

"I just don't understand how you can't have more to do," Hermione said huffily. "You've missed a day of classes, and if I know you at all, which I do, you weren't studying Tuesday, either. Let me see, you had…" she trailed off, staring into the distance. "Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology Tuesday and tomorrow, and double Potions, History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts today. So where's your Charms essay?"

Harry stared at her. "Blimey, Hermione, you've really got to relax."

She scowled at him. "No, _you've_ got to get your work done on time. I'd think that by your eighth year here you might have figured that out."

Harry let out a sigh. "Alright, fine, I forgot about Charms. As if you've never forgotten anything before."

She sniffed. "Nothing as important as homework."

"Does Her Majesty wish to check my work as well?" Ron asked, leaning back in his seat. "I've _actually_ finished."

"I would, but I've really got to stay focused." She turned back to her essay, just missing Harry rolling his eyes.

"Bloody Charms," he muttered, pulling his book out.

Draco let out a dramatic sigh. "Suppose I ought to get started on Herbology. Weasley, what's the assignment again?"

Ron stared at him, mouth open. "Did—are you asking for my help?"

Draco scowled at him. "Hardly anything that disdainful. I've just misplaced my notes from class, and I haven't got the assignment on me."

"Two feet on the Tentacula black market," Hermione said when Ron failed to answer. "Really, Ronald, that was not a difficult question."

Silence took over again. Ron pulled his chess set out of his bag and began playing himself, muttering to the pieces just loudly enough to distract Harry. It didn't seem to bother anyone else, though, and Draco had moved on to History of Magic before Harry was even halfway through Charms. And then suddenly Draco's lips were against his ear, whispering, "I can distract you much more efficiently than that Weasel can."

Harry elbowed him away. "Stop it," he said quietly. "Finish your own damned homework so we can have some time together tonight." Harry did, of course, eventually finish his Charms homework and began playing chess with Ron, finding himself capturing a good many more pieces than usual.

"Blimey, Harry, what's gotten into you tonight?" Ron asked as his second bishop was dragged off the board.

"Just a bit ticked off at the trials," Harry said lightly. "And the _Prophet_. And, y'know, Voldemort."

"Fury against Voldemort being taken out on my chess set, brilliant," Ron said. "You know this thing's been in my family for generations, right? If you demolish it, I'll have to kill you."

Draco finished soon after Harry, and took his place at the board once Ron finished winning, despite only having his king and two rooks left. Their instructions to their pieces steadily grew louder and the deaths even more violent than Harry's had been, causing Hermione to have to cast a silencing spell around herself so she could focus. Harry watched on with amusement and, he found, a contentedness he almost hadn't noticed. This was rather brilliant—the four of them had been in the same room together for hours without anything particularly nasty said, and had even managed to finish their homework with time to spare. And after Draco lost yet again to Ron, he and Harry played against Ron together, who didn't complain once. In fact, he rather gloated about winning against the both of them. Eventually Hermione emerged from her soundproof bubble and joined Ron's team, though she didn't contribute more than vague suggestions.

_This_, Harry thought happily, watching as his knight was shattered, _is how it ought to be._


	26. Chapter 26: Brian

**A/N:** I am so freaking in love with this chapter it's not even funny. This one and the next one are just fluff fluff fluff! I have to run out the door so I didn't get the chance to make my last minute edits, but I've reread this one a bajillion times and I'm pretty sure it should be okay, hopefully.

Also, I'm so glad y'all enjoyed the hints, and thank you so much for being impressed by how much I've done. I've written at least one chapter a day since starting this (aside from one day where I was stuck and two when I was on vacation), so I've built up quite a backlog.

Double also, I made a bit of a ridiculous mistake, and I've reuploaded this version to fix it. If you don't know what I'm talking about, all the better (though I do mention it in the A/N for the next chapter). So yes, we're just being OSTRICHES and ignoring the problem, now aren't we?

Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-Six:**

_**Brian.**_

When the clock chimed midnight, Hermione was horrified. She grabbed Ron by the arm and physically dragged him back to Gryffindor Tower, barely giving him time to collect his things before leaving.

Draco yelled after him, "This counts as a win for me! It's the second time you've walked out in the middle of a match!"

"Forcibly!" Ron said before Hermione closed the door.

"So," Draco said, turning to Harry with a glint in his eye. "Shall we investigate our new bedroom?

Harry flushed. "I—yeah, sounds good. I've got to actually sleep though; I didn't last night, and I had to get up early this morning."

"We'll see," Draco said conversationally. "I feel almost like I ought to carry you over the threshold, but I suspect I'd drop you."

Harry muttered something embarrassed as they walked into the bedroom. It was lit by a small fire, providing just enough warmth to be comfortable but not enough light to keep them up. Their bed was there, decked out in neutral shades of purple, though now the headboard was slatted, which caused Harry to blush further. Their dresser was here as well, though it looked as if it had grown, the hamper next to it, and the closet was in a corner. They both still had their bedside tables, and the door to the bathroom was on the right, where it always had been.

Draco put his hands on his hips. "I was hoping for a more drastic chance," he said with a frown.

"Like what?" Harry asked, a bit nervously. "It's fine the way it is." He began to strip, throwing his clothes in the laundry basket.

"Oh, you know, just something with a bit more…flair," Draco said. "None of my furniture is anywhere to be found, nor my crest. I find that rather alarming, given the scarlet chairs in the other room."

"Well, when McGonagall kicks us out of here and you go back to Slytherin dorms, I'm sure you'll have your fair share of green and silver," Harry said, climbing into bed.

Draco remained in the door, hands still on his hips. "You don't think she'd separate us like that, do you? Surely there must be somewhere we can sleep together."

Harry smiled, a warm tingling filling him. "I dunno," he said. "But I've got my cloak and you've got your Disappearing Draught. I'm sure we can work out _something_."

Draco frowned. "I don't _want_ to sneak around. I want to wake up with you every morning, not just when we've managed to steal away."

Harry's smile widened. "You really are adorable, Draco. Now get in bed, would you? I've got to sleep."

Draco quickly divested himself of his clothes and joined Harry, snuggling close. "How long do you think my father's trial will last?" he asked quietly.

Harry needed a moment to adjust his thinking. "Er, I dunno. I imagine you know more about Death Eater trials than I do."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "It all depends on the evidence," he said. "On how obvious it is, on how long the Wizengamot needs to debate."

"If you already know that, then—"

"I asked because I wanted you to tell me something comforting," Draco interrupted. "I really wish you weren't so daft, Potter."

"Oh. Er, well, in that case, it'll be over tomorrow, and your dad will be cleared of all charges," Harry said.

Draco sighed. "You could have been more realistic," he lectured. "Next week, and a slap on the wrist, along with the confiscation of any dark artifacts found in the Manor."

"That, then," Harry replied, kissing the top of his head.

"Maybe a week in Azkaban, to make it look official," Draco added. "Though…I don't know if Father can handle being in Azkaban again. You should have seen him when he came home last time."

"Try not to think about it, okay?" Harry said. "I know that's utter bollocks to say, but just try."

"What would you have me do?" Draco said, an edge creeping into his voice. "Count sheep?"

"If you'd like," Harry said with a yawn. "Mm, Dray, I've really got to sleep."

Draco sighed. "Fine. Do whatever you need to. If only the _Prophet_ could see you now—**FAMED GOLDEN BOY SECRETLY SELFISH AS ALL FUCK IN BED**."

"Sod off," Harry said. "I don't remember being selfish earlier today. In fact, as I recall, I was tied down and you had your way with me."

Draco smiled slightly. "I suppose," he replied. "But you still told me what to do."

"Because you _made me_," Harry said. "You threatened to leave me there if I didn't."

"Oh, Potter, shut up. Nobody asked you to be reasonable," Draco said. "Really, sometimes I think you're as literal as Granger."

Harry paused a moment before saying, "Seemed like you had a good time tonight."

Draco sniffed. "Under the circumstances, it was not the worst use of my time."

"And, y'know, you're always welcome to introduce me to your friends," Harry said, though the prospect rather terrified him. "Pansy, Blaise, Goyle…"

Draco stayed silent for a minute. "I'm not so sure my friends would be as forgiving as yours. Nor am I sure they are still my friends. But I will take you to meet Mother soon, once the trial is over. And Father, if he is still with us. I don't imagine he'll be as understanding, but perhaps your testimony will have lessened his hatred of you." Draco sighed again. "How did he look? He deteriorated so during the war, and he'd hardly begun to recover before they took him away again."

Harry had to work against fidgeting. "Proud," he said. "Like he was beneath everyone else."

Draco smiled. "Well yes, he would now, wouldn't he? He had the entire Wizengamot in his pocket before this—this _thing_ started. They'd be wise not to forget that."

"I can't imagine Gertrude Barker being in anybody's pocket," Harry said. "Blimey, she's scary."

Draco laughed a little. "No, Father never got a proper hold on her. There's always the one or two who stuck out. But enough of this politics. He looked alright, then? Like he was managing?"

"Y-yeah," Harry stammered. "I mean, he looked a bit, er, tired, and like he might have lost some weight, but he was definitely still himself. Wouldn't even look at me, not once."

Draco smirked. "No doubt he thought it a great insult that you testified for him. I don't know if he'll ever forgive you for that."

Harry flashed back to his conversation with Draco what seemed like weeks ago—the choice to stay true to a name, rather than admit to failure, or the need for help. The idea was so foreign to him, but Draco seemed to take it as a matter of course. "Your mum seemed pleased enough."

"Yeah, she was never as stubborn as Father," Draco replied. "She just loves me, and Father. Not that he doesn't care for me as well, but it was always easier for her to show it."

That didn't surprise Harry at all, not after the letters he read, and not given what he knew about Lucius Malfoy. He yawned. "I've really got to sleep," he said again. "We've got Whisp first thing, remember?"

Draco let out a sigh. "Yeah. But Harry, I'd ask you not to bring up the trial, okay? If I want to talk about it, I'll tell you. And it hardly bears saying that nothing I tell you leaves this bed."

"Yeah, of course," Harry replied.

"It's stupid, I know, what with the _Prophet_ and everything, but it's my duty as a Malfoy to uphold the name as best I can, even under the most trying of circumstances." Draco snuggled closer to Harry. "Other than, y'know, dating you. I'd say it's an even chance Father will blast me off the tapestry himself if he finds out. Rather, when he's released. I'm sure word has reached him by now."

"Well he can hardly get his hands on it now, can he?" Harry reminded him. "It's at Grimmauld Place, and there's enough protection charms on that building to keep out Voldemort himself."

"Mm, right," Draco sighed. "That house rightly belongs to us, you know."

"It does not," Harry snapped. "It belonged to Sirius, and he gave it to me. I haven't said a word against Snape, so you'll leave Sirius out of this."

"Whatever you say," Draco replied, and Harry could hear he was, finally, starting to get sleepy as well. "Just know that while you're there, you're still under my rule."

"You wish."

Friday was uneventful until dinnertime. Harry and Draco were sitting at the Gryffindor table with the usual crowd, Aurora included. Conversation centered around plans to visit Hogsmeade; apparently another announcement Harry had missed was that eight years were permitted to go every weekend, as long as they kept their grades up. Neville was less than excited about this, but Aurora assured him they would have plenty of time together. It was still unclear whether they were dating, but Harry thought once she figured out that Neville would never work up the courage to formally ask her out, she'd take matters into her own hands.

Draco suddenly grabbed Harry's leg, digging his fingers in. "There's Mother's eagle."

Sure enough, the bird swooped down, landing in front of Draco, who untied the note with shaking hands.

_My dearest Draco,_

_This was perhaps the best day of the trial to date! As I suspected, Greyback flaunted his position to the court, taking a great delight in how far your father has fallen. There were many whispers among the Wizengamot, and I am nearly certain I heard Harry's name mentioned at least once._

_Borgin was another matter entirely, though that should come as no surprise. He didn't mention the Vanishing Cabinet, no doubt because that was your assignment, not your father's, which was a blessing. But he provided a long list of things he had sold to your father over the years, and Aurors are no doubt combing the Manor as we speak._

_Still, Greyback's testimony left my heart far lighter than it has been in weeks. There will be no investigation over the weekend, but I believe there will be at least one more day of calling witnesses before your father is on the stand, so to speak._

_All my love,_

_Mum._

Draco smiled, the first time Harry had seen him do so after reading one of his mother's letters. "You were right," he said, for once not sounding upset to be proven wrong. "Or Tonks was; whoever said the more witnesses the better. If only Nagini was still alive, or Aunt Bella. But still, this is very good news indeed."

Harry kissed his cheek, causing Ron to mumble something obscene under his breath. "I told you it wasn't as bad as it seemed," Harry said quietly.

"Yes, yes, and now you can go around and tell the entire school just how wrong I was," Draco replied, but there was no edge to his voice, just a poorly restrained happiness. "Carus, you can wait in the Owlery for me, if you'd like. I'll find you after dinner." Carus let out his signature shriek and rose into the air, flying out the window.

"Can they really understand you?" Hermione asked. "I've seen the way Harry speaks to Capry, and it's quite remarkable."

Draco smirked with pride. "We may have fallen in status, but my father used to be quite close with an owl breeder, and we have only had the best of the best." He frowned. "Except Capry. He was the runt of the litter, and somehow I managed to get stuck with him. If you think him impressive, you are clearly unacquainted with the finer points of owling."

Hermione didn't acknowledge the insult; she never did, no doubt leaving Ron to bear the brunt of that particular job. "Have you got any books on the subject?" she asked. "I'd be fascinated to learn more."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Books on owl husbandry? Is there anything you aren't interested in?" Hermione flushed, but only slightly. "I couldn't think of a topic more dull. I am far more interested in the results than the process, though perhaps if I had paid more attention, I wouldn't be stuck with Capry. Still, he is a fine owl, and I should be lucky to call him my own. If only you could have seen Father's hawk; _that_ was an impressive bird."

This was the second time Harry had heard the bird mentioned in the past tense, but he hadn't wanted to pry, and he didn't feel now was the time, not when Draco was surrounded by people he was only just starting to not absolutely despise.

"Now that Malfoy's done bragging," Ron said, before Draco could start up again, "we can properly plan for Hogsmeade."

"I would think lunch at Madame Puddifoot's might be enjoyable," Hermione said, then looked rather stricken. "Oh, Rory, I had forgotten you can't come. Never mind, lunch at The Three Broomsticks should be fine."

"What's Madame Puddifoot's?" Aurora asked. "I didn't see it last weekend."

"It's a horrid place," Draco said disdainfully. "Full of pink, frilly things. Pansy adored it. It's for couples only, though."

"Oh," Aurora said, pinking about the ears. "Well, I suppose then…" She trailed off, glancing at Neville, who was watching the enchanted ceiling with an interest that conveyed there was something other than the night sky warranting such attention.

"I can go with Neville," Luna said, not noticing the death glare Hermione gave her. "We're not a proper couple, of course, but I hardly think the waiters would notice."

"Harry and I will not be attending such nonsense," Draco said firmly.

"I dunno, Dray. It might be fun," Harry said, a smile dancing in his eyes. "A proper date, you know, at a place meant for dates."

"I'll take you to Intrépide for dinner, if you're so desperate for conventionality" Draco said. "I will _not_ be seen in Puddifoot's. Not again."

"I think it would be fun," Luna said, completely ignorant that both Hermione and Aurora were staring angrily at her. "Neville, would you be my escort?"

He looked utterly torn between wanting to turn her down and wanting to be nice, and Hermione took the opportunity to answer for him. "Luna, aren't you a seventh year?" Hermione said.

"Oh, that's right," Luna replied. "Oh well. Another time, then."

"I would think Neville would have other interests in Hogsmeade regardless," Hermione said pointedly. "Isn't that right, Neville?"

He was blushing terribly, and Harry felt bad for him. "I—er, I dunno, maybe. There's always Dogweed and Deathcap."

"I love that shop," Luna said. "There's always something interesting to look at."

Hermione looked ready to explode, and Ron laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Let it go, 'Mione," he said quietly. "It'll get sorted."

"Luna, perhaps you have your own date, a proper date, to take with you to Hogsmeade?" Hermione said, unable to help herself.

"No, I haven't got anyone like that," she said serenely. "I've never been much interested in such things. I only offered to escort Neville out of friendship; I haven't got many friends, you know, and I find I rather like helping the ones I do have."

That seemed to be enough to calm Hermione, and Ron all but stuffed a bread roll in her mouth before she could say anything else.

"This is how you spend your time?" Draco asked, voice quiet enough that only Harry could hear, but still filled with his customary disdain. "It's a like a bloody soap opera."

"There are wizard soap operas?" Harry whispered back.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course there are, don't be daft. You think I'd be caught dead watching a muggle program? Not that I watch soaps at all, mind you."

"It'll get better once Neville finally asks her out," Harry said. "Now shut up, and stop whispering in my ear. People will assume things."

Draco smiled. "What sort of things would they assume, Harry?"

"That we're talking about sex," Harry said so quietly Draco almost couldn't hear him.

"And remind me again why we aren't?"

Harry pushed him away, blushing, and returned to his dinner.

"I hear they're already planning the Hallowe'en Feast," Hermione said conversationally, as if she wasn't leading the conversation back to where she wanted it. "Hagrid's got pumpkins growing already."

"'Mione, that's not for another month," Ron said. "More than that, actually. 'Mione, you're absolutely ridiculous."

"I may have given some thought as to my costume for the Feast, but depending on what I decide to do, it may take some time, so you can hardly find fault with me."

"It's always the same," Ron said. "You say you don't care about how you dress, yet you spend the whole of lunch gossiping with Aurora about what to wear."

"You mean being a girl," Harry interrupted. "It's alright. Happens to us all every now and then."

Draco grinned wickedly. "It certainly does, doesn't it?"

This Saturday couldn't have been more different than last week. It was warm and sunny, the perfect weather for a trip to Hogsmeade. Harry and Draco took their time getting out of bed, having agreed to meet Ron, Hermione and Neville for lunch, and not any earlier. Eventually Draco glanced at the clock, and said, "We'd better get going, I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Harry asked, torn between excitement and nerves. "It wouldn't have to do with Venus and Eros, would it?"

Draco laughed. "No, Harry, I'm saving that for when we get bored of what we've already got. Or when I'm feeling particularly frisky, whichever happens first. No doubt the second.

"Anyway, you've distracted me. Come on, get out of bed and get dressed. We're expected at eleven, and it won't do at all to be late, not even fashionably so."

"Expected where, exactly?" Harry asked. "You said Intrépide for dinner, not lunch."

"And, as such, we've got reservations for dinner. Seriously, Harry, get out of bed."

Harry sighed and did as he was told. "Have I got to wear dress robes?" he asked.

Draco laughed. "Hardly. Just wear something with sturdy sleeves."

Harry stared at him. Sturdy sleeves? What on earth was he talking about? "A-alright then," he said, pulling on jeans, a tee shirt and a light jacket. Draco, as always, wore all black, and, with one quick glance at the clock, led them outside and on the way to Hogsmeade.

"We probably should've left earlier," he said, walking briskly. "I just hate to see you cover that beautiful body with clothes."

Harry blushed. "I assume you won't be telling me where we're going, then?"

"It's a surprise, I told you. Don't dawdle, Harry, this is precarious enough as it is, getting even further into his bad graces will not behoove us, especially you."

There were almost too many things to comment on. "_Further_ into his bad graces? Draco, we're not going to get hexed, are we? This isn't some Death Eater trap?"

"Don't be daft," Draco snapped. "I don't care to associate with Death Eaters, and with my father on trial, it would hardly look good, now would it?" They crossed the border into Hogsmeade, and Draco stopped walking. "Take my arm."

Harry's eyes widened. "We're apparating? Are we even allowed to do that?"

"Haven't the slightest idea. Come on, now, it's nearly eleven." Taking a deep breath of air, Harry grabbed Draco's arm. The hateful, familiar sensation lasted only a few moments, and when they landed, Draco had to keep a hold on his arm to prevent him from staggering. "Survive the journey, did you? I'd hate to have you spliced."

"I'm fine," Harry said weakly, waiting for his head to stop spinning. They were standing in front of a small but well-kept house in the middle of an open, green field, nothing else in sight. Harry heard noises coming from behind the house, but they were quiet enough that he couldn't tell what they were.

"Come on," Draco said for what seemed like the hundredth time, pulling him towards the door. He knocked, then began to fidget, and Harry realized he was nervous. He put a hand on his wand, just to be on the safe side.

The door swung open, and they were greeted by a very large, burly man. He was much taller than either Harry or Draco, though nowhere near as big as Hagrid, and quite broad. He had a thick, brown beard and wavy red hair that fell about his shoulders. He was wearing worn jeans, a flannel shirt, and had a leather gauntlet on one arm.

"Draco Malfoy," he said gruffly. He had a heavy Scottish brogue, so strong Harry could barely understand him. "Wouldn't have thought you'd dare come here, given the state of your family affairs."

Draco stood tall and proud, all fidgeting gone. "You're the best, and I will settle for nothing less."

The man continued to block the door, assessing them. "You're Harry Potter," he stated.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, wondering if he would ever need to introduce himself. He felt himself being scrutinized.

"How do you feel about the 1965 Ban on Experimental Breeding?"

Harry was thrown by the question. "Um. It's fine, I guess?" The man frowned, and Draco stepped on his foot. "I mean, y'know, for—other people," he said awkwardly. "I suppose it's rubbish. I've got a friend who—"

"So you wouldn't be inclined to go running to the Ministry if you found somebody breaking it?"

"N-no," Harry said, growing increasingly nervous. Given all his years with Hagrid, he knew this line of questioning never lead to anything good.

The red-haired, brown-bearded man continued to measure him, and then finally stepped outside, closing the door behind him. "If it were to get back to the Ministry, I'd know who to look for, now wouldn't I?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Right then. I'm McMillian. Come around back, now, and watch your mouth. You wouldn't want to startle the parliament."

Harry's eyes bugged out, and he stared at Draco. "What on earth—"

"Stay quiet," Draco said softly, taking Harry's hand. "And don't look so panicked."

They rounded the back of the house, and Harry stopped in his tracks. In front of him was the largest flock of birds he had ever seen, including the Hogwarts Owlery. There were hawks, eagles, owls, Augureys and Fwoopers—the last two Harry could thank Hagrid for knowing—and all sorts of other birds he didn't recognize. And was that a phoenix, perched in a tree so high Harry could hardly see it?

"Haven't got any of your hybrids left," McMillian said to Draco. "Never figured I'd need them again, seeing as I didn't think you'd dare show your face around here. But there's a new crop of eagles, and snowy owls, plus I think I've finally gotten every color of Fwooper available, including a few that don't come naturally, if you're up to the task." Harry, who had learned all about the Fwooper's song, was not eager to hear it again.

"Draco, what are we doing here?" he asked quietly, still looking at the birds. There were just so many, he couldn't get his eyes to focus on a single bird. "You've got Capry, haven't you? You aren't going to trade him in just because he's a little hyperactive?"

McMillian laughed, a booming sound that frightened several birds into flight. "Capricornius, I remember him. Could hardly forget such a ridiculous bird. He nearly flew off with half my flock once, dunno how. How's he doing these days?"

"As well as can be expected," Draco replied. Then he smiled a bit. "Very affectionate, that owl."

"Aye, the crazy ones always are. Anyway, you can have your pick, as long as you can pay for it."

"Draco, what—"

"I'm getting you an owl, what does it look like?" Draco said. "Or an eagle, or whatever you want. It's unbecoming of you not to have one, and besides, I've seen how you look at Capry, longing for a bird of your own. I haven't seen that snowy owl in ages, so I figure it must be gone."

"She was murdered by a Death Eater," Harry said tightly.

"Oh," Draco said, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Yes, well, gone, like I said. Everybody in society has a bird, and I've made it my mission to make you presentable." Draco paused. "And, y'know, it's a thank you gift, from me and Mother. But mostly it's for appearances, and sending the occasional letter, I suppose."

Harry pulled Draco into a tight hug. "I'm going to pretend the only reason you gave me is that I miss having an owl," he said quietly. "The rest is rubbish, and I don't want to think about it."

Draco hugged him back. "Remember the thank you as well," he said. "Truly, Harry, no matter how rubbish you think it is."

Harry brushed his lips against Draco's cheek and pulled away. "So…any of these?"

"Aye," McMillian said. "The Malfoys have never pinched a single penny when it comes to birds." He paused. "I heard old Dommy passed away," he said. "If I was speaking to your father, I'd send my regards."

Draco stiffened. "Yes, he's gone. My aunt used him as target practice."

McMillian shook his head. "What a waste of such a fine bird."

"Indeed." Harry could feel Draco willing himself to relax. "So, Harry, see any you like? The snowy owls are over there, if you'd like a replacement."

Harry shook his head. "No. Hedwig was special, and I don't want a reminder of her every time I get post."

"I assume you'd find an eagle too ostentatious," Draco said. "It's a shame. They're remarkable birds, especially McMillian's."

"Is that a phoenix up there?" Harry asked, pointing at the topmost branch of the tree.

McMillian laughed. "Aye, she's a phoenix. You've got quite the taste, Harry Potter, but I'm afraid not even Malfoy's pockets run that deep."

Harry flushed. "No, no I didn't want it, I've just only seen one before, and—"

"You can stop stammering any time you'd like," McMillian interrupted. "There's not a wizard alive who isn't drawn to a phoenix. You can go walk around, if you'd like, see the birds closer. Just mind your manners and you'll be fine."

Harry walked forward hesitantly. The birds were perched in all manner of ways; on trees, mostly small ones, the house itself, a handful of manmade structures, some even hopping about on the ground. Harry carefully avoided these, trying to keep an eye on both his feet and the birds surrounding him. He was utterly overwhelmed; how was he supposed to pick one out of the hundreds that resided here? All those years ago when Hagrid had gotten him Hedwig, he had thought Eeylops Owl Emporium overwhelming. Clearly, he had been very, very wrong.

"You can always let the bird chose you," McMillian said. "That's how some go about it. They give a whistle and see what comes."

Harry found he liked this idea very much. He whistled, high and clear, and waited. Just as he was about to think nothing had happened and he would be bird-less forever, a large barn owl swooped down from the roof and landed on his outstretched arm. It looked at Harry, seeming to evaluate him, and Harry stayed quiet, letting the bird do as it seemed fit. Then, after what felt like ages, it hooted quietly, scooted onto his shoulder, and nipped at his ear.

McMillian laughed again. "I see you've made a friend there. Beautiful owl, excellent lineage. His father won many a competition, and his mother was the best rat-catcher I've ever known. This here's the sixth out of a litter of seven. It's male, if you can't tell."

Harry cautiously pet the owl, very aware of all the times he had encountered animals with Hagrid. But he was met with an entirely pleased response, the owl pushing back against his hand and trilling in the back of his throat, sounding almost like a purring cat. "He's brilliant," Harry said. He'd never thought he'd have an owl as wonderful as Hedwig, and while this bird was hardly the same, Harry found he was already rather attached to it.

"That'll be two hundred galleons."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Draco, you don't have to do this. Eeylops has got owls for a fraction of the price."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said, reaching into a pouch and pulling out a handful of galleons. "Those birds are practically brain dead compared to McMillian's. A barn owl is hardly high society, but if it's what you want, then it will be yours. Your owl will be trained as well as Mother's eagle, and no doubt far better than Capry."

"You—you're sure," Harry said.

"Of course," Draco replied, handing the galleons over. "Now come on, we're going to be late for lunch."

"Always rushing off to some engagement or another, that's a Malfoy for you," McMillian said. "If you've got a problem with the owl, I've got a ten day return policy. Store credit, naturally."

Harry rejoined Draco, the owl still on his shoulder. "I don't think that'll be a problem," Harry said.

"Never is," McMillian said. "Except with those bloody Parkinsons. Never satisfied, always complaining about something or other.

"And Draco, it wasn't that awful seeing you again. Your father is no longer welcome here, as he is well aware of, but I suppose you can come back, if you need to."

Draco nodded. "Until we meet again."

McMillian tipped an invisible hat, and then they were gone.

Harry gasped in fresh air, feeling his feet planted firmly on the cobblestones, his new owl still on his shoulder as if nothing had happened. "You could've warned me first!" he said.

Draco shrugged. "It's just apparating. Have you got any ideas for a name?" he asked as they walked to the Three Broomsticks.

"Er, no, not a clue," Harry said.

"I've got a suggestion, if you aren't opposed to such things."

"By all means."

Draco stopped walking and took Harry's hand, looking almost shy. "I—I thought maybe Brian would be suiting," he said. "I don't know if you want such a constant reminder of Dumbledore, but I thought maybe you might like it, and Percival and Wulfric are just so preposterous—"

Harry silenced him with a hug. "Brian is perfect. Draco, thank you, so much."

Draco flushed, just slightly. "It's nothing."


	27. Chapter 27: Harry and Draco go on a

A/N: First off, I need to retract something from last chapter. I feel a little silly, because maybe you forgot about it and now I'm reminding you when I should just let it go, but still, here it goes: I accidentally mentioned the upcoming Yule Ball last chapter, when it wasn't supposed to be revealed until much later. I dunno what was going through my head, but it shouldn't have been there. I've gone back and rewritten that conversation and I'll upload the new document as soon as I'm done posting this one. So can we all just forget that ever happened and you have no idea what's going to happen later on?

Also, I totally forgot to add this last chapter, but you all should Google Image barn owls, because they are as majestic as fuck. I don't know why they've got such a bad/unimpressive idea about them, because they are crazy beautiful. I'd post a link to a picture but, well, we all know how well that works.

ANYWAY, about this chapter, I haven't got much to say. I know the title gives some of it away, but I just couldn't help myself, it was so perfect. Besides, Neville is the shit, and everybody needs to know that ASAP.

So enjoy!

Also, a special shout-out to MagickBeing for alerting me to the odd formatting mistake. I have no idea what happened, and the second time I tried to copy and paste it, it was even weirder. Eventually I threw the whole thing into TextEdit to clear away whatever was going on, and that worked out fine. Sorry for the weirdness!

**Chapter Twenty-Seven:**

**_Harry and Draco go on a proper date, and Neville gets the girl._  
**

Harry and Draco walked to the Three Broomsticks, hand in hand, Brian perched elegantly on Harry's shoulder. Hermione, Ron and Neville were waiting for them outside, and Hermione gasped, while the two boys just stared.

"Harry—" she started. "Harry, did you get a new owl?"

Harry smiled rather foolishly. "Yeah. His name's Brian."

Draco cleared his throat. "Harry did not _get_ a new owl, he was _given _one."

"_You_ bought him _that_ bird?" Ron asked, gaping. He turned to Hermione. "Why don't you ever get me nice things? I'm still stuck with Pig, if you hadn't noticed."

Hermione didn't bother responding. "You two didn't _leave Hogsmeade_, did you? You know that's against the rules! You could get in so much trouble, Harry!" Then, almost as an afterthought, "You too, Draco!"

"Where we went is of no concern to you," Draco replied.

"But if you were in Diagon Alley and somebody saw you—and you know they would, Harry, everybody knows your face—they could report you to Professor McGonagall, and—"

"We weren't at Diagon Alley, Hermione," Harry said. "Nobody's going to report us, unless the three of you feel the need."

"Of course not," Ron said immediately, and Neville echoed his sentiments. Hermione got the look she always had when asked to break the rules, and Ron elbowed her. "We won't, _will we_, Hermione?"

"Er, no, I suppose not," she said nervously. "Just don't do it again! Or, knowing you, just don't tell me about it when you do."

"I'm starving," Neville said, effectively ending the conversation. "Didn't get much to eat at breakfast for some reason. Hermione."

She flushed. "Well, come on then."

Harry looked at Brian, then at Draco. "Does he know where Hogwarts is?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "He knows where _everything _is, Harry. Send him to the North Pole, and he'll come back with a bit of glacier in his beak."

Harry stroked Brian once more. "You can go off now," he said. "The Owlery's your home, okay?"

Brian hooted loudly and flew off, Harry staring at his new bird in awe. Barn owl or no, he was incredibly handsome, and Harry felt himself very lucky indeed.

"Come on," Draco said, grabbing Harry's elbow. "Stop staring, people will think you daft. Let's get lunch, shall we?"

Harry nodded, and followed his friends inside.

They lingered at the Three Broomsticks for several hours, talking and laughing and having fun. Harry even saw Draco smile once or twice, and he readily participated in the conversation, though he was as arrogant and condescending as ever. Eventually they split off, Neville going back to Hogwarts to find Aurora—to get started on their next potion, he insisted, and nothing more—Ron and Hermione going to Madame Puddifoot's for tea, leaving Harry and Draco to wander the village alone, holding hands and enjoying being out from under the constant stares they got at Hogwarts. While they ran into a few students, for the most part they were left alone, the residents of Hogsmeade having more important things to do than gossip over a teenaged romance.

Eventually they found themselves at the end of the street, looking up at the Shrieking Shack. Harry's stomach clenched and he tightened his grip on Draco's hand, who misunderstood entirely.

"It's not actually haunted, Harry," he said as if explaining to a small child. "I shouldn't think you so gullible."

"I know that," Harry snapped. Draco raised an eyebrow, and Harry took a deep breath. "Sorry. It's just…it's complicated."

Draco led them over to a nearby bench and sat down. "Then come here, sit, and tell me all about it."

"It's long and complicated," Harry warned.

"Well our reservations aren't for another hour, so you've got some time," Draco said. "Come on, Potty, out with it."

Harry frowned at him. "I don't like the idea of doing what you say when you call me that," he said. "It feels like all the wrong sort of positive reinforcement."

Draco smiled sweetly. "Harry, darling, my love, tell me."

It was only when Draco interrupted him to say that they should really start heading towards Intrépide that Harry realized just how long the story really was. He supposed he had told the long version, starting with when his father was still at Hogwarts, and he hadn't left anything out, not even how they had tormented Snape, even though he felt Draco stiffen at his words. And now, he was halfway through the battle at the Department of Mysteries, somehow having managed to go down that path, rather than any of the hundreds of things he could have told Draco, or even more sensibly, stopped talking after Lupin got fired. But he hadn't talked about Sirius in so long, and there were the deaths from last spring to work through, and Harry found it remarkably restorative.

"And then, well, I expect you know the rest," Harry said, following Draco to the restaurant. "Your aunt killed Sirius. Voldemort came and tried to kill me. The Death Eaters were sent to Azkaban, except your aunt. The usual."

Draco squeezed his hand. "That's a far cry from the Shrieking Shack," he said. "Though I have to say, I'm glad you told me. I never heard anything about Sirius Black other than my family's less than stellar opinion of him, and what the papers said. Suppose we've both got complicated godfathers."

Harry smiled slightly. "Yeah, suppose so."

They arrived in front of Intrépide, and Draco turned to Harry. "Hold still, you look a bit of a wreck from wading through all those bird leavings." Harry let Draco dress him as pleased, finding himself wearing black slacks and a dark jade button down shirt. "It sets off your eyes," Draco said, failing to hide a smile. "And I see you forgot to use the yellow bottle again." He smoothed Harry's hair as best he could. "I expect that will do. Here, take my arm," he said, winding his arm through Harry's. "Hopefully the name Malfoy still carries some weight here," he said as they walked through the front doors. "It would be humiliating to sit anywhere other than my customary table."

"You have a customary table?" Harry asked nervously.

"Of course I do. We have our own tables at all the best restaurants in England," he replied.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," a tall, thin wizard said. Harry thought he looked a bit like a vulture, which he did not find romantic in the slightest, but he didn't say anything. "I have not seen you with this companion before."

Harry flushed, but Draco only drew himself up. "It is not your business who I chose to dine with, Terrance. I'd request that we be seated with no further conversation."

"As you wish." Terrence led them over to a seat by the window, and Harry could tell by Draco's smirk that this was indeed his customary seat. "Would you care to hear the specials, or would that be too much of a tête-à-tête, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco scowled at him. "I will not be mocked. Why don't you go off and fetch us a pretty young thing to elaborate on the menu?"

"As you wish," Terrence repeated, and disappeared.

Draco shuddered. "I've always despised that man. He's never given my family the respect we deserve. Pansy insisted on me taking her here every Hogsmeade weekend, and you'd think the combined force of the names Malfoy and Parkinson would buy a little respect, but no."

Harry chose to ignore Draco's tirade, instead taking in his surroundings. The restaurant was very nice and very fancy, as promised. The lighting was provided by candles hovering above each table, leaving the restaurant dim but each table well lit. There was a single rose in a crystal vase on their table, along with intricately folded napkins, and enough silverware to intimidate him.

A new waiter approached them, and Harry was relieved to see she bore no resemblance to any sort of bird. She was tall and thin, with curly red hair, and a splattering of freckles across her nose. She would have looked quite at home in the Burrow, Harry thought.

"Welcome to Intrépide," she said with a slight Irish accent. "I'm Melodie, and I will be your server this evening. Would you care to hear the specials?"

"Have you got the gnocchi in this evening?" Draco asked.

"Yes, sir, we most certainly do."

"That will suffice, thank you. Oh, and the oysters for a starter. And…" He stopped, considering. "Harry, how do you feel about a good rosé? Some object to it on principal, mostly older wizards, but I'd be remiss if I didn't ask."

Harry flushed. "Er, rosé?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "The wine, Harry."

"Oh, um, I don't drink, really," he stammered. "Are we even allowed to be drinking at school?"

Draco sighed lightly. "It seems we will not be partaking in wine this evening. A shame, but I daresay we shall survive. Harry, have you decided on your meal yet?"

Harry, who had not even seen a menu, felt entirely out of place, and this whole experience was extremely over his head. "I, er—"

"May I recommend the salmon?" their waitress said. "Fresh from the north, arrived just a few hours ago. It's served seared on a bed of fresh greens with char-broiled asparagus on the side."

"Um, sure," Harry replied.

"We will share the oysters, I think," Draco said.

"Very good." Their waitress melted back into the restaurant, and Harry looked out the window, flushing brilliantly.

"You've never been here before, have you?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry replied. "I imagine the whole staff knows by now. How am I expected to order without a menu?"

"Oh, that's just because you're with me," Draco said. "They assume any friend of mine already knows what they want." He reached over and took Harry's hand, gently massaging. "You can relax," he said. "I've got the whole place under my thumb. If there's anything you don't like, just tell me, and I'll have it fixed."

"It's fine, really," Harry said, still feeling incredibly embarrassed. He had never been to a restaurant nearly this fancy, and he thought going with Ron and Hermione would be much less intimidating than being here with Draco.

Draco smirked. "You're not used to having somebody take you out and about, are you? You could hardly speak at McMillian's, and now you can't even make eye contact with me. Harry, you really must get used to this if we're going to continue to see each other. I consented to study with Weasley and Granger, and now you must let me show you off. Though you needn't stop blushing; I find it rather adorable."

That was good, because Harry was pretty sure he couldn't help it. A moment later their server appeared with two glasses of water, the oysters, and two pieces of silverware Harry had never seen before. He busied himself with his water while he watched Draco expertly extract the flesh from the shell. His eyes closed and he let out a small sigh. "Simply fantastic," he said. "They only serve _Ostrea edulis_ here, as well they should. Go on, have a taste."

Harry had no idea what that meant, but he still picked up a shell hesitantly. It smelled rather—ocean-y, and the texture looked entirely suspicious. Draco had made using the three-pronged spoon seem natural, but Harry found it anything but, and he had to work to not appear completely daft. When he missed for the third time, Draco laughed quietly, and took the oyster and the spoon from his hands.

"Here, you do it like this," he said, demonstrating. Harry couldn't see how that was any different than what he had done, but then Draco was leaning over and feeding him the shellfish, and he found that yes, it was overwhelmingly ocean-y, and had an unusual texture, but it was entirely delicious. "Think you can manage now?" Draco asked, a bit of teasing creeping into his voice. "Or will I have to hand feed you all night?"

"I've got it," Harry muttered, embarrassment flooding back. And he did, eventually, and only accidently flicked one oyster across the table, which he considered a very good track record.

"I should think you know oysters are considered an aphrodisiac by many cultures," Draco said. "Utter nonsense, of course, but I thought it leant an appropriate sense of romance to the night, don't you think?"

Harry was not at all sure why something so briny and slimy would be considered an aphrodisiac, but he agreed willingly enough. Now that they were alone, and he had figured out how to eat their food, he was finding that he did like Draco spoiling him, at least a little. He still felt a bit awkward, and wondered idly how Ron had been able to afford to take Hermione here, but generally speaking, it was nice. He wasn't sure how this compared to taking Draco swimming in the Black Lake, nor was he sure how he could pay Draco back for this, not to mention his new owl, but for now he was content to enjoy their date.

The main course was just as delicious, and Draco ordered something called a Coeur à la Crème with Caramelized Strawberries for dessert. Harry never figured out exactly what it was, but there were strawberries and sugar, and it was delicious. Draco insisted on feeding him his first bite, which made Harry blush, and they held hands throughout dessert. Draco wouldn't let Harry see the check, which made him a little uncomfortable, but Draco insisted, and Harry supposed it would be unromantic of him to argue.

They emerged from Intrépide to find that the temperature had dropped just below comfortable, and the gentle breeze had turned sharp. Draco conjured them cloaks—his black, of course, and Harry's the same jade green as his shirt—and they walked back to Hogwarts slowly, holding hands, remaining in a comfortable silence. Draco stopped them on the front steps and turned to Harry.

"That green really does bring out your eyes, you know," he said softly.

"And you looking dashing in black, as always," Harry said with a sideways smile.

Draco smiled back and kissed him, gently but thoroughly, slowly claiming his breathing and making his knees weak. Harry didn't have the wherewithal to be concerned that maybe it was he who should be making Draco's knees weak, or at least not being so helpless that he needed to rely on Draco to hold him up.

"Come on," Draco whispered in his ear. "I'm not done with you yet."

They opened the front doors, and Harry groaned internally. Neville was sitting on the bottom of the stairs, head in his hands, looking like he was about to cry.

"Ignore him," Draco whispered, causing Harry to glare at him.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said. Neville raised his fingers in greeting, but remained quiet and didn't look up. Harry sat down next to him and put a hand on his back while Draco leaned against the bannister, looking at his nails. "What happened?"

"I dunno," Neville muttered. "I guess I thought, after breakfast this morning, what with Hermione's ramblings, something might have…" he trailed off. "Nothing happened. I'm just going back up to the Tower. Our potion needs to sit overnight before we can do anything else."

Harry relaxed. He was half-convinced that Justin had asked her out, or something like that. "Neville," he said sternly. "You _have_ to do something about this. You can't just go moping around the castle for the rest of the year. What about Holidays? What if she goes back to America and meets a boy there? Then what would you do?"

Neville let out a forlorn sigh, doing a remarkable impression of an Augurey. "That hadn't even occurred to me."

Ah, obviously the wrong thing to say. "Even before then," Harry said, backtracking. "What if someone asks her to the Hallowe'en Feast before you work up the courage? You know how brave you can be! Just go up to her and—and—"

"Snog her senseless?" Draco suggested, sounding terribly bored.

"Yeah, do that," Harry said. "Or you could, y'know, properly ask her out, like before."

"You mean like _I_ did before," Draco drawled.

"It's been a week, so you haven't even got the excuse of a waiting period anymore," Harry said.

Neville sighed again. "But what if she says no?"

"Then you'll pick yourself back up and move on," Harry said, as if it was that easy. "Come on, Neville, you're doing this now." Neville finally looked up, and Harry saw the panic in his eyes. "Do you need me to physically force you down to the Hufflepuff dorms, or can you walk there on your own?"

"I—I don't—"

"Alright then," Harry said. He stood up and pulled Neville to his feet, propelling him in the general direction he thought the Hufflepuffs came from. Draco followed, still looking utterly bored, though Harry thought he might be just the tiniest bit interested. "Er, Neville, you'll have to direct me, I don't know where we're going."

"Down these stairs," he said, starting down a flight. "Then a right at the bottom—no, wait, a left, then a right, and then—bollocks, Harry, I don't know. I've only been there once or twice."

Draco let out a huge sigh. "It's a left, then a right, then another left, and the pile of barrels is halfway down the corridor on the right."

Harry gaped at him. "How do you know that?"

"I find it wise to know where the student body resides," Draco replied snidely. "You never know when you'll need a Hufflepuff's…oh, that's right, they haven't got any talents."

"Sod off," Neville snapped, and Harry was pleased to hear he had some fight in his voice. They followed Draco's directions, stopping in front of the barrels. "Er, I'm not sure—"

Harry slammed his fist against the wall. "Oi! Anybody in there?"

There was a shuffling, the wall in front of them dissolved, and Hannah Abbot stood in front of them. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, we've got to talk to Aurora," Harry said.

Hannah eyed the three boys. "All of you?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. He wasn't about to leave Neville on his own, not when they had come this far.

"Alright then. Wait here." Hannah disappeared, and the wall reformed before Harry had a chance to see what the common room was like.

"Harry, I can't do this," Neville said. "Really, I don't know what to say, and I think I'm about to throw up."

"You'll be fine," Harry said, though Neville did look a bit pasty. "Come on. This is not that hard. If I can bloody well kiss Draco Malfoy out of the blue, you can ask a girl out."

"I'll not have you using me as an example, Potter," Draco drawled. He was leaning against the far wall, looking on with only the mildest of interests. "I ought to have hexed you on the spot for doing that."

"Yeah, but you didn't," Harry pointed out. Draco opened his mouth to continue to argue when the wall disappeared again. Aurora stood before them in her pajamas—black pants and a tight yellow tank-top—with her hair cascading down her back, and Harry thought that if there was ever a time for Neville to ask her out, it was now. She looked just a touch sleepy, seemed happy to see them, and was relatively alone; Hannah was still looking on, as well as a few other Hufflepuffs Harry didn't recognize, but they stayed back, giving Aurora her space.

"Hi," she said. "Sorry about the pjs, I was just getting into bed to read. What's up?"

"Neville wants to ask you something," Harry said, preemptively silencing a snide comment from Draco or any stammering from Neville.

Aurora blushed. "O-oh?" she asked. "Neville?"

And then, nearly miraculously, Harry saw the Neville from the Final Battle emerge, the Neville that had stood up to Voldemort, the Neville that had fought for his friends, his school, and wizards everywhere. "Rory, will you go out with me?"

"Um, yes, of course," she said, caught of guard by his sudden confidence. "Like, somewhere in particular, or just in general?"

"In general," Neville said firmly. "I mean, you know, properly." He was starting to loose some of his bravado, and Harry stepped on his foot. "Will you be my girlfriend, I mean?"

Aurora smiled. "Neville, of course I will. Did you really think I'd say no?"

"Um, well, I'm not sure," he said. "But I'm glad you said yes."

"So am I." She stood on her tiptoes—Harry hadn't noticed their height difference until now, but Neville was quite a bit taller—and kissed his cheek. "I've got to go to bed now, but I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"G'night, then," she said, and the wall reappeared, leaving Neville staring blankly at a pile of barrels.

"Did—did that just happen?" he asked as if coming out of a daze. "Because I'm pretty sure I just asked Rory out, and she said yes."

Harry grinned. "Yes, it absolutely did. I'm actually on a date myself, right now, and in case you hadn't noticed, Draco's been giving me dirty looks this whole time, so I probably ought to go. Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah," Neville said vaguely. "Just walk me back up to the main hall, would you? Not sure I can find my way back on my own yet."

"Absolutely."


	28. Chapter 28: The second room

A/N: So I suppose strictly speaking this isn't exactly canon, but then again, there's nothing in the books that comes out and says this _doesn't_exist, so let's just keep an open mind, yeah?

Also, I ask you one last time: prepare yourself for tomorrow's chapter. I don't want to ruin anything, but know that it's called _Firewhisky_ and it involves Pansy and you're going to hate me forever. But I promise, absolutely _promise_everything is going to work out, and to prove it, I'm telling you right now chapters 33 and 38 are filled to the brim with sexy times. Also not to give anything away, but Pansy gets what's coming to her via Neville in a way you couldn't possibly guess at.

Anyway. Enjoy this not-entire-canonical chapter, and brace yourselves for tomorrow.

And today's special shout-out goes to cerianite, for alerting me to strange formatting errors (once again). I promise I'll remember to double check next time, for reals. If anyone else has been having such problems, please PM me with a solution beyond using TextEdit to clear the formatting entirely?

**Chapter Twenty-Eight:**

**_The second room._**

By the time they arrived at the Room of Requirement, the predatory look was back in Draco's eye, and Harry was finding it rather difficult to pay attention to where he was going. As soon as the door was closed, Draco slid his cloak off and started on his shirt's buttons. Harry was watching avidly and backed into the table. It hit him just behind his knees, and he suddenly found himself sitting on it. Draco smirked, prepared to use Harry's position to his advantage, when Harry realized there was more than just table beneath his hands.

"Did you leave any parchment out?" Harry asked.

Draco frowned. "No, of course not. Why?"

Harry picked up the paper, and his stomach dropped. "Letter. From McGonagall."

Draco sighed heavily. "Go ahead, get it over with." Then he added, doing a remarkable impression of McGonagall, "'_I_ _have never been more disappointed in you than I am today, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy. Apparating out of Hogsmeade is bad enough, but not telling anyone where you were going is downright irresponsible! Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin, and be grateful it isn't more.'_"

Harry stifled laughter. "It's nothing like that. Come on, have a look."

_Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy—_

_It is against the school's policy to allowed students to take up permanent residence in the Room of Requirement. It has come to my attention that all of your possessions reside within the room, and you have been sleeping there for more than a week. Due to Rule 2348, Section 12b, that is a clear violation of the Room's purpose. Under normal circumstances you would both be removed back to your proper dorms, but your Head Boys have informed me that it seems the castle itself wants you to remain living together; both of your beds have vanished from their rooms, as well as all furniture, clothing and personal effects. I will, of course, not force you back to rooms that are ill equipped to house you. You may remain in the Room for one last night, after which I expect to see you at my office at ten o'clock sharp. Tell the gargoyle I sent you, he'll let you in._

_Regards,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall_

"I see," Draco said silkily.

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "You do? Because this reads as utter nonsense to me. What does she mean, the castle wants us together? Are all my things really here? Then where's my trunk, and my broom polishing kit, and—"

"There's a closet over there," Draco said, gesturing off to the right.

"What about our furniture?" Harry demanded. "I've got a home in Gryffindor Tower, it can't just take that away from me!"

"Of course it can," Draco replied. "But really, Harry, you must calm down. Every now and then, when my father has had a bit too much to drink, he tells me stories of Hogwarts students aren't meant to know. Several Christmases he divulged that, if two students from different houses are serious enough, and have made enough of an effort to be together—as we have by abandoning our dorms and staying in the Room of Requirement—the houses will reject the students, forcing the staff to house them together. Apparently there's a whole wing somewhere, devoted entirely to such apartment-style living, leftover from centuries ago, when witches and wizards used to marry younger. The couples would have all the amenities of living on their own, but they would still be under the safety of Hogwarts, and able to attend classes, eat meals, you know. Father was very, very drunk when he told me this, but perhaps there was some truth to it."

Harry considered the idea. It would hardly be unlikely for Hogwarts to have such a wing, or for it to have fallen from memory. No doubt Hermione knew, but it was far too late to ask her now, and he and Draco had to meet with McGonagall first thing. "I suppose that'd be okay," he said. "As long as it's close to Gryffindor Tower."

Draco frowned. "I should hope not. Besides, the Room of Requirement is half the castle away, and you've been managing just fine. I just don't want to go back to the dungeons. Never mind the Slytherins; I've gotten used to having windows, and I will not give them up easily."

"Still, I'm not sure how I feel about the Tower 'kicking me out', so to speak," Harry replied. "I'm still a Gryffindor, whether we're dating or not."

"How many nights have you slept there this year? Two? Three? And from what I've seen, you haven't ever known the password. You're still welcome there—certainly more than I am in my common room—but the dorms have not been your dorms," Draco said. "Besides, haven't Granger and Weasley got their own room? You wouldn't even be sharing a room with your precious Weasel."

Harry frowned. Everything Draco had said was true, but still… "If this is all true," he said, "our room will be Gryffindor colored, and I won't hear another word on the subject."

Draco scowled at him. "You can choose either the living room or the bedroom," he said. "Not both. I'll decorate the other."

"You don't think it would look strange, to have two completely separate rooms?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised. "I suppose the reasonable, grown up thing would be to split the rooms evenly. A green chair, a red chair. Red and gold bedclothes, silver dressers and shelves."

"I daresay we're getting just a bit ahead of ourselves," Draco said. "Like I said, my father was quite drunk. For all I know, McGonagall will make us agree on one of our houses to live in together, like your friends." He shuddered. "Living in Gryffindor Tower all year would be even worse than the fate waiting for me in the dungeons."

"I can't imagine her making you of all people into a Gryffindor," Harry said with a smile. "Think of the letter she'd get from your dad."

Draco smirked. "Quite true. Even while on trial, he has a certain pull around here." He sat back on the couch, leaning into the pillows. "I will miss this room, though. I doubt wherever we end up will bend to our every whim."

"Maybe Neville and Aurora will end up down the hall from us," Harry mused. "Probably not, though, not given how shy Neville is, and how slowly they're bound to go."

Draco continued to smirk. "I imagine by graduation they might even be holding hands, if she instigates it, and he doesn't run away."

"Don't be rude," Harry said. "You saw Neville today. He can be brave. It's just harder for him than others."

"Still. Can't imagine him past cheek-kissing and hand-holding. In fact, I can't imagine _him_ imagining anything further." Draco wrinkled his nose. "Nor do I want to. Come on, Harry. Let's not waste our last night here."

"Yes, I was thinking that, too. I'd rather not leave a whole weekend's worth of homework until the last minute, not again," Harry said. Draco's eyes bugged out, and Harry dissolved into laughter. "Kidding, Dray. It was a _joke_."

"You don't know the meaning of the word," Draco sniffed. "Now get into bed this very instant, and make sure you've removed every last article of clothing before you even touch those silken sheets."

Harry knew it should bother him that Draco bossed him around, especially given their history, but he found he didn't mind in the slightest. "Whatever you say, dear."

They lay in bed after, cuddled together, as always.

"Hogwarts really thinks we've been together long enough to live together?" Harry mused.

"Harry, I've already explained to you, we've been living together all year," Draco sighed. "Must we go over it again?"

"No," Harry replied. "It's just—well, I suppose the castle knows best."

Draco looked up at him, eyes flickering in the low firelight. "Do you not want to?"

"No, of course I do," Harry replied. "It's just kinda fast, y'know? And, y'know, it's you, and it's me," he said, squirming a little.

"Yes, that would be the point," Draco said slowly, obviously. "It wouldn't work nearly as well if it was, I don't know, Blaise and Lovegood."

Harry snorted at the pairing. "That's true."

"And, well, Father always thought the headmasters never truly left Hogwarts," Draco said, sounding a little embarrassed. "That they're all still here with us, in spirit, guiding our choices. So if your precious Dumbledore is still here, I should say he approves, for what it's worth."

"I like that," Harry said. "I don't believe it, but I like it." He smiled. "Can't imagine what Dumbledore would've thought of us together."

"No doubt that his precious Golden Boy was meant for far better than me," Draco said. "Then again, I never thought that highly of the man to begin with, so he can take his opinion and—"

"_Draco_!" Harry said sharply. "Not another word, not if you intend to stay in this bed tonight.

"I've actually considered what he would have thought," Harry continued. "I don't think he would have minded. In fact, I think he probably would have seen it as a sign of progress, not that we're really bringing our houses together, or anything. But, y'know, progress. And I think he'd be happier for you than for me. He knew what you were going through, he told you that at the Astronomy Tower. I think he'd consider it a far better choice than—than the other path you could have gone down."

Draco considered this. "You did know him better than anyone else," he said hesitantly.

Harry snorted. "Hardly. That man told me the absolute bare minimum, and sometimes less than that. But still. I don't think he would have minded."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Draco said sharply. "What's far more important is whatever McGonagall has planned for us."

"Yeah. Dumbledore would've, at the very least, thought it funny that we're together. McGonagall doesn't have the same streak of humor he did."

Draco smiled. "I've never even seen her smile, you know."

"It's been known to happen," Harry replied, though he couldn't recall a specific instance. "We probably ought to get to sleep, especially if we're to have breakfast before we meet with her."

Draco sighed. "Why have you always got to be the reasonable one? 'Go to sleep, Draco'. 'Get out of bed, Draco'. 'Do your homework, Draco'. 'Don't hate my friends just because they're Gryffindors, Draco'." He sighed again. "You ask too much of me."

Harry grinned. "I do say those things, but you've got a few to answer to yourself. 'Take off all your clothes, Harry'. 'Get in bed, Harry'. 'Put your hand here and your mouth—'"

"Oh, shut it," Draco mumbled. "Fine. We'll sleep. Or…" he trailed off. "Or we could say goodbye to this bed one last time. Again." He stroked a single finger down Harry's chest, ending just above the thatch of curls.

Harry let out a sigh, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on Draco. "It is our last night here," he said, voice only shaking slightly.

"And, if it weren't for this very room, I daresay we'd still be at constant arms," Draco added, moving his finger lower, tracing it over Harry's quickly hardening length.

"Indeed," Harry exhaled. "And—_ohhhh_, that, Draco, that, again."

Draco smirked. "Fine, but I'm adding it to the list of things you demand of me."

Harry woke up to an owl pecking his head. He muttered something in his sleep and brushed it away, but it returned, pulling instantly on his hair.

"Alright, fine!" he snapped, sitting up and grabbing his glasses. "What d'you want?" The bird was Brian, and he was sitting on Harry's pillow, sans letter. "Am I supposed to owl someone, is that what you're trying to tell me?" he asked, rather angrily. "I'm trying to sleep, you know."

Brian hooted at that, and Harry suddenly glanced at the clock. It was quarter of ten. "Oh bloody Christ Merlin's beard," Harry said all in one breath. "Draco, get up, we forgot the alarm, we're going to be late." Harry all but flew out of bed, pulling on whatever was closest and didn't rank. Brian hopped over to Draco's pillow and set to work waking him up. Eventually, grumbling, Draco rolled out of bed.

"Told you that thing'd be well trained," he mumbled, pawing through dresser drawers, throwing what he needed onto the bed.

"You're saying he woke us up in time for a meeting he didn't even know about?" Harry asked, amazed.

"McGonagall's letter got here somehow, and owls are prone to gossip." Draco stopped. "Or, er, whatever you call it when owls talk to each other. I dunno. But yeah, he's an alarm, too. A bloody defective one, if you ask me. I could've used more than five minute's warning."

Harry wished he had a treat to give Brian, but it had been a long time since he had needed them. "Good boy," he said instead, stroking the owl. "Very, very good boy."

Brian hooted affectionately and flew out the open window.

"Okay, you ready?" Harry asked, looking down at himself, making sure he hadn't forgotten pants, or anything of the sort.

"Yeah, yeah, lemme just run a comb through my hair," Draco grumbled.

Harry grabbed his arm. "We're about to be yelled at, perhaps for hours, and you're worried about your hair? Come on!"

They walked quickly through the hallways, Harry dragging Draco behind him, and arrived, not quite panting, at the gargoyle at what Harry roughly assumed to be on time.

"Um, McGonagall said to tell you that she's sent us, and you'll let us in."

The gargoyle opened his mouth, stone dust falling to the floor. "Names?" it asked in a gravelly voice.

"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," Harry said.

"You may enter." The gargoyle stood aside, and holding hands, Harry and Draco ascended the staircase. Harry knocked on the door, and heard a muffled-sounding, "Come in."

The two boys entered, still holding hands, and Harry had to work hard to prevent his jaw from dropping. McGonagall's words had been muffled because she was eating breakfast—a pile of pancakes and a glass of pumpkin juice sat before her.

"Even the greatest of us sleep in now and again," she said. "And I am hardly the greatest. Come, sit, I'm not going to yell at you."

Harry and Draco exchanged a quick look. Harry thought that seemed rather unlikely, but he did as instructed, finally letting go of Draco's hand, as the distance between the two chairs was too far for such frivolities.

"As I'm sure you read in my letter, it is entirely inappropriate for you two to take over the Room of Requirement for the entire year," she said, cutting herself a piece of pancake. "Nor can I just send you back to your dorms in their current state. I leave the predicament to you—either myself and Professor Slughorn will spell your dorms back to how they were and you shall reside there, or we can make alternative arrangements. Given the fact that you ought to have graduated by now, and would no doubt have your own residences, I find no objection with finding a spare room to stash you two." She took a bite of pancake. "Well?" she said, eyebrows raised. "What'll it be, then?"

Harry and Draco glanced at each other. "We'd, er, like to stay together," Harry said, and Draco inclined his head ever so slightly.

"Much as I had thought," she replied. "A little known fact about Hogwarts is there are several suites set aside for circumstances just as these, though they were originally intended for married couples."

"I knew it," Draco burst out. McGonagall stared at him, and he dropped his gaze. "Sorry, Professor."

"As I was saying, these rooms are still available for use, though I imagine rather musty, and no doubt covered in dust." She paused for a sip of pumpkin juice. "They are located in the East Tower, a place so long neglected I doubt you could find it on any map. To reach it, one goes to the seventh floor corridor where the Room of Requirement resides, all the way to the end, and tells the portrait of the Sphinx the full names of everybody attempting to enter. If the Sphinx has no objections, there is a staircase that circles up to a landing with five doors, each leading to a suite. You will have your pick of the lot, though personally, I recommend the second. Needless to say, it would be wise of you not to anger the portrait. Like the animal pictured, it does not forgive easily."

Harry felt a bit nervous at this. He and portraits did not have the best history, and he thought it a mere matter of time before he accidentally said something offensive, or swore at it.

"The second of the doors has the biggest rooms, as well as a commanding view of the lake. I'm afraid these rooms are old enough that they require physical keys, rather than a password. You will find them to be fully furnished, though of course you may transfigure it to your liking. You will have complete control of the room—note that this includes cleaning up after yourselves, starting your own fires, and relying on house elves for nothing other than laundry, which they will collect once a week. You will still be under the jurisdiction of your individual houses, as well as the greater body of the school. Will that be a problem?" McGonagall asked sternly.

"Of course not," Draco said smoothly. "I hardly allow my abode to become a lurid clutter."

She looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Right then. Shall I escort you up to investigate each room yourselves, or do you chose to take my word that you will prefer the second room? I highly recommend leaving the fifth room alone; a particularly nasty ghost resides there."

Harry glanced at Draco. He was more than happy to accept McGonagall's assessment of the situation, but he thought Draco would need to carefully inspect each room.

He was wrong. "I imagine the second room will suit us perfectly," Draco said.

"Excellent. Here are your keys—replacements can be made only by myself, so take care not to misplace them. I would be especially displeased to be woken up in the middle of the night to let you in, not that you have any business wandering the halls after hours." She slid two ancient, brass keys across her desk. "Before you pick those up, be absolutely certain this is what you want. Coming into possession of any of the keys to these rooms renders them immediately yours—all your things will be there, though perhaps not as you like them, and there will be a great fuss if you change your minds. The rooms are a bit finicky, having been left empty for so long." Harry and Draco, exchanging another look. Finicky rooms? That sounded much too like Grimmauld Place than Harry cared for. But Draco took his key without a word, and Harry followed suit. They looked at McGonagall, waiting for further instruction. "Well?" she said eventually. "Off you go!"

Harry and Draco descended the stairs in silence, not talking until halfway up the Grand Staircase, when Draco broke into a rather silly smile utterly unlike him. "I'm rather excited," he said. "I've never lived on my own before. It will be quite exciting, I imagine."

Harry thought back to his summer spent wandering through the giant, empty Grimmauld Place with only Kreacher as company. "Er, yeah, suppose so."

Draco looked at him with a frown. "I would have expected you to be more excited than this, or are your reservations from last night still running rampant?"

"No, it's nothing like that," Harry said. "It's just, I have lived on my own, or, rather, with only a house elf, and it can get a bit lonely."

Draco smiled fully, a sight Harry rarely got to see. "Well you've got me," he said, taking Harry's hand. "So you needn't worry about that."

Harry smiled. "True enough."

"Will there be a potions lab, do you think?" Draco asked. "It'd be brilliant if there was. Living on a tower that _starts _on the seventh floor does not make for a pleasant journey to the dungeons."

"Um, maybe?" Harry said. "You can probably create one if there isn't already."

"I would like my chaise as well," Draco said. "It feels like home. And there _will_ be a Malfoy crest on the walls somewhere, mark my words."

"As long as I get my Chudley Cannons banner," Harry replied. "And, um, as long as it's not in our bedroom. I don't think I could have sex with it watching me."

Draco laughed. "If you say so."

They arrived at the Sphinx portrait quickly enough, and it regarded them with a discerning look. "Trying to get in, or just dawdling?" it asked, voice coming out as a purr.

"We'd like to go in, please," Harry said, mindful of McGonagall's warning not to anger it. "Harry James Potter and Draconius Malfoy."

The Sphinx stood and stretched. "It's been many years since anybody has passed through this door," it said. "I am not certain how I feel about being put to work again."

"Consider it an honor, to once again keep the students of Hogwarts safe," Draco said, sounding remarkably like a politician. "Sphinx are natural guardians, are they not? I would imagine it fulfilling to do what you were made for."

"You have a smooth tongue, I'll grant you that," it replied. "But how do you know that is what I was meant to do? Perhaps I'd rather spend my years undisturbed, bathing in the Egyptian sun."

"Not with that pile of gold behind you," Draco said, and the sphinx immediately repositioned itself so it was blocking the treasure. "You might like to imagine yourself above such things, but I warrant there are more paintings missing gold bars than one would expect."

"A smart one indeed. You may pass, Draconius Malfoy. As for you, Harry James Potter, you may join your friend, but keep in mind it will be to your benefit to leave the talking to him."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Very much," Draco added with a little bow.

The sphinx smiled, and the portrait swung open. "Enjoy your new homes."

Harry waited until he heard the portrait close completely before letting out a pent up breath. "That was terrifying," he said. "How did you do that?"

Draco smirked. "Malfoys have always had sharp tongues. What we chose to use them for does not always represent a good decision, but I can talk my way into anything."

The staircase was made of stone, candles hovering at regular intervals that displayed a host of spider webs. Those would need to be cleared out before Ron came to visit. And perhaps more light; it was so dim, Harry could hardly see the stair in front of him, and there was no handrail to steady himself on. But the walk was short, and the platform they arrived on was better lit. There was a torch next to each of five doors, every door ornately labeled with its number.

"Would you care to do the honors?" Draco asked, stepping to the side to give Harry room to unlock the door.

"Why not," Harry said, putting his key in the lock. "It's not like exploring old, dusty rooms that haven't been inhabited for years could be dangerous at all, especially at Hogwarts."

Draco laughed lightly. "I'd imagine not."

There was a click, the heavy wooden door swung open, and Harry and Draco entered.

The room was much, much brighter than the hall. An entire wall was made of windows, looking over the Black Lake, as promised, and, Harry assumed by the name of the tower, would offer a wonderful view of the sunrise. There was a fireplace on one wall, their photographs arranged just as they had been in the Room of Requirement, and Harry was extremely pleased to see that both the couch—Gryffindor scarlet—and the checkerboard coffee table were there. But this room was much larger than the Room had been for them, and there were also two green chairs on either side of the table. The Malfoy crest hung above the mantle, but a Chudley Cannons banner was affixed to the closest wall which contained, much to Draco's delight, a long table just the right height for brewing potions, the space beneath it taken up by a fully stocked apothecary chest. The left wall was entirely taken up by bookshelves; Harry saw Draco's collection had increased to fill nearly half the space, while his own took up a single case. What the rest of the books were Harry could only guess at.

"Harry, this is brilliant," Draco said, giving him a hug. Harry had never seen Draco in such good spirits before, and it was almost disorienting. "Come on, let's see the bedroom."

The bed was as big and comfortable as the one in the Room, and decked in Gryffindor colors, though they were offset by Draco's chaise, which was set against the left wall. Their bedside tables were intact, and there were two dressers instead of just the one, which Harry thought brilliant, as well as a closet, and a door leading to the bathroom. Draco collapsed onto his chaise, which creaked, but held his weight.

"Harry, this is perfect," he sighed. "I wouldn't change a thing." He leaned up on an elbow, scrutinizing Harry. "You don't seem pleased. What would you have different?"

"Nothing, it's wonderful," Harry said. He carefully considered his words before continuing. "It's just…it's barely Hogwarts, is it? These rooms haven't been used in ages, they're nowhere near my friends, or the library, or the Great Hall, or classrooms. Coming back this year wasn't an easy decision, and most of what convinced me was being back in Gryffindor Tower. It's just different, that's all."

"Well you are of age, you know," Draco said. "If you hadn't disappeared last year, and if not for the war, you would have graduated on time, and wouldn't be here at all. Surely this is better than nothing. And," he said, letting out a dramatic sigh, "it doesn't mean we can't ever visit your precious Tower."

Harry smiled. "True enough. Though I'll need to get Hermione a list of all the passwords before we really get stuck."

"Indeed." Draco stretched out, humming contentedly. "So, shall we break in the new bed?"

Harry laughed. "You, Dray, have a one-track mind. What about homework? Don't you want to try out your new potions bench? For once we can actually do the assignment together. Not to mention Charms and Herbology."

"After lunch, I promise," Draco said. He stood up, walking over to Harry and pressing himself against him. He twined their hands together and gently gyrated his hips. "We've got the bed," he said softly, nipping at Harry's neck. "And the couch, and my potions bench. I can't imagine my chaise is up for much, but we can arrange something, I'm certain."

Harry sighed, surrendering. "Fine," he breathed, grabbing Draco's hips so he could properly thrust against him. "But after lunch I want to bring my friends up to see, and we'll have to do homework."

"That only gives us an hour or so," Draco whispered. "Better get started."


	29. Chapter 29: Firewhiskey

**A/N:** Okay, so, here we go! Please don't hate me. I promise everything will work out. I even reworked the chapter after this one to make it more realistic, and I'm feeling a bit better about the whole thing now.

Please don't kill me.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine:**

_**Firewhiskey**_

"I wish you would at least make an effort to appear as thought you haven't been shagging all morning," Hermione said as Harry and Draco sat down. "You don't see me and Ron coming down to lunch a half hour late with our shirts untucked, fly down, and disastrous hair."

"I find it rather rich that you of all people would complain about other's hair," Draco said, though he did tuck his shirt in, and Harry hurriedly zipped his fly.

"Anyway, where were you? We stopped by the Room of Requirement on the way down and it was empty."

"Please tell me you were at least shagging somewhere interesting," Ron said. "If it's got to be shoved in my face, it might as well be funny."

Harry and Draco exchanged a look. "Well…" Harry stared.

"No," Hermione said firmly. "I don't want to hear about it."

"You probably do, 'Mione," Harry said. "We've been moved, and if you'd like to see us again this year, you'd probably like to hear where to."

"I assume to the little-known East Tower," Hermione said.

Harry stared at her. "How do you even know about that?" he asked. "McGonagall said it's not on any maps, or—"

"_Hogwarts, A History_," she said loftily. "A rather old edition I found in the library a few years ago. It hasn't been mentioned in the past fifty years or so, maybe more, but it's there, if you know where to look for it. I should think you're in the second room, yes?"

"You—" Harry stammered. "Yeah."

"Is the view as lovely as the book described?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry repeated. "I still don't—why were you reading a fifty year old copy of that book? It's got to be out of date."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "For this very reason, Harry. For everything added to the book, something has got to be taken out. They haven't infinite pages, you know."

"Would anyone care to tell me what's going on?" Ron asked. "What's this East Tower?"

Harry was about to explain when Hermione did it for him. "The East Tower, entrance located on the seventh floor, contains small apartments, originally intended for married couples, back when students weren't considered too young to wed. As recently as 1920, it was used for non-married couples who nevertheless wanted to live together but weren't from the same house, like you and me. It's not exactly clear why it fell out of use, or even exactly when, nor am I precisely sure how to enter it, but its existence is certainly a stroke of luck for Harry and Draco." She turned to Harry. "How _do _you get in?"

"There's a portrait of a sphinx, and you've got to give it your full name," Harry said.

"_Politely_," Draco added. "I daresay, if Harry had been left to his own devices, he'd still be standing in the corridor arguing with the painting as we speak."

"I was polite," Harry muttered. Then, louder, he added, "We've got to spend the rest of the day studying, and we were hoping you'd come with us, see the new place?"

"Of course," Hermione said.

"Yeah, suppose so," Ron said. "As long as _that one_," he added, indicating Draco, "isn't an utter prat."

"I will be on my best behavior just for you, Ronald Weasley," Draco drawled.

Ron looked at him suspiciously. "I'm not kidding. One wrong word, and 'Mione and I will be out of there."

"Nor was I," Draco replied, and even Harry found this supposed friendliness suspicious. "Nothing but the utmost of respect shall issue from these lips."

Ron continued to stare at him. "Right."

"Draco, don't tease him," Harry said under his breath.

"I meant every word I said, don't be ridiculous," Draco whispered back. "Oh, and a few of my friends might be stopping by, later on," he added, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I thought you weren't on speaking terms with Slytherin house."

"If I can forgive you, Potty, for being an insufferable prat for seven years, I daresay I can give my closest friends a bit of leniency for a few months of sulking," Draco replied.

"And how do they know about our room, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Sent Pansy a note while you were—" Draco cleared his throat delicately, "—busy."

"Uh huh," Harry said.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Potter," Draco said. "You've got Ron and Hermione to protect you from the big, scary Slytherins."

Harry was about to continue arguing when Neville and Aurora appeared, a bit out of breath, and slightly flushed.

"Oh, good, we haven't missed lunch," Aurora said. "The potion took a bit longer than we expected; Neville, er—"

"Made a mess of it, it's alright, you can say it," Neville said. Harry couldn't help but notice how happy he looked, or that Aurora was still flushed.

"I did say _powdered_, not chopped," she said gently. "But it's fine, I fixed it right up. And we haven't even missed lunch, so all's well."

"Study session after lunch?" Neville suggested.

"We were going to go see Harry and Draco's new room," Hermione said, and again launched into the explanation, leaving Harry to roll his eyes. It wasn't like it was _his_ room or anything, certainly _he _had no business telling people about it, _clearly_ that was Hermione's job. But Draco rested a hand on his leg, whispered something obscene in his ear, and then Harry felt considerably better.

They were halfway up the Grand Staircase when Harry noticed they were one short. "Anybody know where Luna is?" he asked. "She should come with us, don't you think?"

"I'm right here," Luna said serenely, nearly startling Harry into falling down the stairs. "I was sitting with my housemates this afternoon, but I left when I saw all of you going at once. Are we going somewhere interesting, then?"

For the third time, Hermione explained about the East Tower, and by the time she finished, they were all standing in front of the portrait of the sphinx.

"A large crowd already?" it asked. "This, Draconius Malfoy, is what I did not want to be acquainted with. Loud parties at all hours of the night, keeping me up."

"Not to worry, we're just here to study," Draco replied. "Draconius Malfoy, Harry James Potter, Hermione—er, what's your middle name, then?"

"Hermione Jean Granger," she said. "And Ronald Bilius Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Aurora Abigail Jones, and Luna Lovegood."

"Indeed," the sphinx replied. "Aurora Abigail Jones, you are not on the Sorting Hat's list, nor do you share lineage with any who are. Explain yourself."

"I'm an exchange student," she said, a bit nervously. "From Barnstable Academy, in Minnesota, though I'm from Wisconsin."

"A small school, but very elite. Would you be in their potions program, then?"

"Yes, most certainly."

The sphinx nodded. "A wise decision. You may all enter, but mark my words—if your study session were to turn into anything louder, I might not be so kind next time."

"You have my personal word it will not," Draco said.

"Very good." The portrait opened, and a moment later they were settling in the living room. Harry and Draco stood at the potions table, Neville and Aurora were on the couch—nearly snuggling, Harry was delighted to see—Ron and Hermione had managed to squeeze into a single chair, though she kept warning Ron about elbowing her while she was writing, and Luna in the remaining chair.

"We may need another couple chairs," Harry said, collecting two tails of rat, a single bat eye and a handful of scarab beetles.

Draco glanced over his shoulder. "Perhaps," he said. "Come on, hurry up with those scarabs, they've got to go in right away."

When they finished with their potion, Ron and Hermione took their place at the counter, and Draco ended up draped gracefully over Harry's lap as they, with some difficulty, wrote essays. Soon after, Hermione conjured an extra chair, and while Harry was certain it was no bigger than the others, somehow Ron and Hermione both fit comfortably, not to mention several textbooks and Hermione's book bag. The light slowly faded from the sky and Draco lit a fire, as well as a handful of candles. Despite McGonagall's warning about a lack of house elves, around dinnertime there was a knock on their door, and when Harry opened it, he found several trays heaped with food. It made for an excellent meal; gathered around the fireplace with his closest friends, in his own apartment that he shared with his love. Draco had been right; if they hadn't returned, no doubt Harry would still be rattling around Grimmauld Place, and this was a far better alternative. Ron took out his chess set and he and Draco began dueling, sitting on the floor so as to not disturb their partners, who were still working. And when there was a second knock on the door, Harry assumed it was house elves waiting to take the trays back down to the kitchens.

He could not have been more wrong. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini stood before him, and when Harry did nothing more than stare vacantly at them, he found himself being pushed aside as they let themselves in. The amicable chatter—and chess-related yells from Ron and Draco—immediately vanished, and Harry found himself glaring angrily at Draco. He knew he had offered to spend time with his friends, but he had thought perhaps at lunch, or maybe in the library; certainly not in his new home, not when everything had been so peaceful.

"Pansy! Blaise!" Draco stood up and walked over to his friends, giving them each a kiss on the cheek, which shouldn't have made Harry nearly as upset as it did. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to come."

"We almost didn't," Pansy said, her shrill voice already starting to give Harry a headache. "But Blaise positively _insisted_. Didn't you, Blaise?"

"Indeed," Blaise replied.

"And that mangy cat almost didn't let us in, can you imagine? Anyway, we thought you might be bored of studying by now—really, Draco, since when do you spend all weekend studying?—and we brought you a housewarming gift," Pansy said, pulling a bottle of Firewhiskey out of her bag.

"No," Harry said. "Absolutely not."

"Don't be so uptight, Potter," Pansy said dismissively. "Come on, Draco, it's been ages. And heaven knows you need to relax, given your father's—predicament. And it can't be easy being forced into such company."

"Get out," Harry said firmly. "You will not stand here insulting my friends, not in my own room. We—Draco included—were having a fine time before you showed up."

Draco gave him a pleading look. "Just this once," he said, taking Harry's hand, entirely missing Blaise's grimace and Pansy's look of pure jealously. Draco moved so he was whispering in Harry's ear. "I've been so good about your friends," he whispered. "Give them a chance, alright? I know Pansy can seem a bit—crass—but really, they're not so bad."

Harry ground his teeth. Draco had been exceedingly good about Harry's friends, far better than Harry had expected, and Harry _had_ offered to get to know Draco's friends… "Fine," he snapped. "But if you say one more word against my friends…"

"Excellent," Pansy said. She collapsed onto the couch next to Neville and Aurora, forcing them closer together; Neville looked somewhere between terrified and furious, and Aurora was clearly feeding off his emotions. "Now come on, let's get this thing open!"

Hermione was glaring at Pansy, then at Harry, then Draco, then back to Pansy. Ron had rejoined her on the chair and had a tight grip on her hands. Harry sat stiffly on his chair, Draco perched on the arm, and Blaise stood behind Pansy, remaining silent and impassive as always. Only Luna seemed unperturbed by the new company, which made Harry more nervous—out of all of them, Luna was most likely to say the wrong thing, to accidentally spill confidential secrets.

Pansy opened the bottle of Firewhiskey, took a sip, and passed it around, though Harry thought that phrase may have been too generous. While the bottle was offered to everyone present, only Draco, Zabini and Pansy drank from it. Harry was not surprised, nor was he when Neville and Aurora suddenly stood.

"We've got our potion," Neville said.

"Right, it needs to be stirred," Aurora said, quickly gathering her things.

"And needs mandrake root."

"So we'll see you later."

"And Ron and I have got that—that thing," Hermione said.

"Er, right, the thing," Ron added. "Luna, why don't you come with us? To our thing?"

"Oh, I don't know, I rather like it here," she said.

"_Luna_," Hermione hissed. "We need your help with—with this. It's got—numerology."

"Alright, I suppose," she said. "I'll see you later Harry, Draco, and Draco's friends."

"Bye," Ron said, Hermione and Luna on his tail.

_Brilliant_, Harry thought, watching with disdain as Draco took the empty space on the couch next to Pansy, and Blaise sat in Luna's empty chair.

"Harry, you sure you don't want any?" Draco offered, holding out the bottle. "Pansy's right, we've got to relax. I haven't had a proper night of relaxing all year."

Harry glared furiously at him. "No?" he asked. "None of what we did counted?"

Draco waved his hand, and Harry wondered just exactly how strong this particular bottle was. "Course it did, but this is different. C'mon, Harry, please?"

More to get Draco to shut up than anything else, he grabbed the bottle and took a tiny sip. He immediately started coughing, which sent Pansy into a giggling fit. It was like fire burning down his throat, settling unpleasantly in his stomach, and he could have sworn that even that one, insignificant sip was enough to tilt the world just slightly off its axis. He handed the bottle back to Draco.

"What else is in there?" Harry asked.

"Oh, nothing," Pansy said lightly. "Just, y'know, the usual. Me and Draco's special brew."

Draco's eyes lit up. "Oh, _that's_ what this is?" he asked, and Harry could see him falling back into his Slytherin ways, becoming the person he hated. "That'd explain some things."

Pansy giggled again, taking the bottle and having another drink. "Come on, Potty, you sure you don't want any more?"

Harry gritted his teeth. He barely let Draco call him that, let alone anyone else. "I'm fine," he said and stomped over to the bookcase. What he wanted to do was disappear into the bedroom and lock the door, but there was a voice in the back of his head that warned him against leaving Draco alone with his old friends, and Harry thought listening to it would be awfully wise. Almost randomly, he pulled out the copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ Hermione had given him years ago, returned to his seat and began to read, keeping as close an eye on Draco as he could.

It was rather dull work, actually. Blaise did nothing other than sit silently, which was a little unnerving, but seemed harmless. The process of watching Draco and Pansy get drunker and drunker was stupid and embarrassing but again, seemed rather harmless. Harry was slowly starting to come around to thinking that maybe it would be good for Draco to have a night with his Slytherin friends, to get good and smashed, especially when Harry could make his life a living hell the next morning when he was hung over. And if Pansy was maybe being a little hands-y, well, Harry just held onto his book tighter, turning the pages with nearly enough force to rip them out of the book. He kept a close eye, making sure her hands never dipped below Draco's waist or under his shirt, trying with all his might to be magnanimous, to tell himself that a hand on a shoulder or a stroke of the cheek between friends meant nothing. Eventually Blaise left, muttering something Harry didn't catch, leaving him alone with am increasingly affectionate Pansy and a very, very drunk Draco.

Harry glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven, and he decided that was enough of an excuse. "Alright, Pansy, come on. Draco and I have got to get to sleep. Go on, wouldn't you?"

She frowned at him. "I don't want to," she said petulantly. "Draco, do you want me to leave?"

He seemed to consider it. "Not particularly."

Harry glared at him. "Really, Pansy, it's getting late."

"If you're so tired why don't you just go to bed?" she asked accusingly. "Draco and I don't need to be _supervised_, do we?"

Another long pause. "No."

Harry was completely and utterly unwilling to leave the two of them alone. He had spent the past hour or two trying to convince himself that he could trust Draco, that he wasn't about to cheat on him, but there was that little, insistent voice in the back of his head telling him to keep an eye on things, and he had long ago learned to trust his instinct.

"Besides," Pansy said. "I haven't got what I came here for yet." She turned to Draco, put her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him full on. Harry was shocked into silence and immobility; all he could do was stand and watch as Draco squeaked with surprise, then began to kiss her back, one hand on the back of her neck, the other on her breast.

Then his paralysis broke. "GET OUT!" Harry yelled, whipping his wand out and pointing it at Pansy.

She pulled away from Draco, smirking. "Or what, Potter? Going to hex me?"

"_Slugulus—_"

"_Protego!_" Pansy shouted, cutting the curse off before he could finish. "Really? We're going to duel over Draco? I hardly think it's fair, given that I'm pretty drunk."

"Your fault, not mine," Harry snapped. "_Stupefy!_"

Pansy dodged it, barely, and the curse it the bookcases, sending several shelves of books clattering to the floor. "_Diffindo!_"

Harry deflected it, sending the jet of color harmlessly into the fireplace. "_Expelliarmus!_" Pansy hadn't the reflexes to avoid that one, and her wand flew across the room into Harry's hand. "Now," he said dangerously, pointing both wands at her, "if you want to walk away from this without needing to be brought to the infirmary, I suggest you leave." Pansy chucked the nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey at Harry, and he sent that, too, into the fireplace to shatter against the brick wall. "Are you done yet? Have you got anything else you'd like to throw at me?"

Her expression said she very much did, but there was nothing else at hand, and Harry had her wand. "Fine," she snapped, getting unsteadily to her feet. "But never forget, Harry Potter, that Draco came back to me, not you. He let _me_ into his room, got drunk with _me_ on homemade Firewhiskey he _knew _was spiked, and kissed _me, _felt _me_ up." She had made her way to the door, but continued to keep her eyes on Harry's. "When push comes to shove, he'll always chose me."

Harry flicked his wand and the door flew open, hard enough that it bounced off the wall behind it. "Get the fuck out."

Pansy left with no further comment. Harry left the door open, waiting to hear the portrait open and close before uttering a sticking charm on the portrait and a locking spell on their door. Harry turned to Draco, not bothering to attempt to curb his temper, but he needn't have worried—Draco was passed out on the couch, an arm hanging off the side, one leg propped up on the arm of the couch, snoring into the pillow. Harry contemplated cursing him in his sleep before deciding it wouldn't be sporting; besides, he wanted to see Draco's eyes when Harry let him have it. Doing it like this wouldn't be satisfying at all.

Harry stalked into their bedroom, locking that door as well. There must have been an irony in not sharing the bed their first night here, but Harry couldn't see it. He slammed the wands down on his bedside table, stripped, throwing his clothes angrily into the hamper, and climbed into bed, jerking the blankets up to his chin. Not that he thought he could sleep, not when every time he closed his eyes he saw Draco kissing Pansy, feeling her up…

There was a tapping on the window, and Harry jumped out of bed, desperately hoping it was Ron or Hermione or even Neville, _somebody _he could tell what had happened. Brian flew in and landed next to the wands, not carrying a note.

"What do you want?" Harry grumbled. "Come here so I can owl Ron or Hermione?"

Brian nudged the two wands apart and grasped Pansy's in his claws.

"I'm not sending it back to her," Harry snapped. "Not tonight, when she'd just come up and curse me in my sleep."

Brian tapped the wand on the table, and hooted.

"I _told_ you, I'm not giving it back to her," Harry yelled. "She can just—just—bloody hell, how am I going to get it back to her? I don't know if I can even think about her without cursing someone, let alone give her wand back."

Brian tapped it against the desk again.

"I suppose I could send it to McGonagall," Harry considered, and Brian hooted. Merlin, he was a smart bird. Harry scrawled a short note to McGonagall, saying that Pansy had accidentally left her wand in his room, and attached the note and the wand to Brian's leg. "You're brilliant," Harry said. Brian didn't leave yet, and Harry thought he was waiting for further instruction. "You don't need to come back," Harry said. "If I told Hermione, she'd tell Ron, and they'd have the whole of Gryffindor storm the tower and murder Draco in his sleep. Go on, I'll be fine."

Brian hooted again and flew away.

Harry got back into bed, slightly less violently than before, and stared at the canopy. He shouldn't be surprised, not really. Draco was a Slytherin first and foremost, he always said so, and he had the ever-precious Malfoy name to uphold, a need Harry certainly did not fill. He didn't know how he expected this to last as long as it had, let alone any longer, and wondered idly what McGonagall would say when he asked to be moved back to Gryffindor the very day after reopening the East Tower.

Harry angrily wiped tears away. He hadn't been aware that he was crying, not really, the action was merely a reflex. Merlin's beard, how could he have thought Draco had changed so much in such a short time? All the bullshit he had said about being shunned by his house, dropped from society, how Harry was his only friend. It was all lies, all to get him to—to what, exactly? Testify for Lucius? Was that what this had been about? Or had he just found a new way to embarrass Harry, a long con instead of laughing at his pathetic attempts to pass potions, or calling him and his friends names.

No, Harry realized suddenly, this was not Draco's fault. It was his own, for letting his guard down, for forgiving Draco, for letting him in when all the evidence and logic in the world should have stopped him. And his friends, why hadn't they done anything? Ron had been angry at first, sure, but he had if not exactly warmed up to Draco at least learned to tolerate him, and Hermione had seemed genuinely pleased by their relationship. Why on earth had neither of them put him in a full body bind until he came to his senses?

But there wasn't any point in blaming them, not really. They were just being supportive. Harry had made his bed—_literally_, he thought bitterly—and he would lie in it. He didn't expect to get any sleep, thought that he was too angry, but eventually he drifted away.

_Harry was walking through a garden. There were sunflowers as far as the eye could see, reaching up to the sky, blocking his view. He came to a fork and realized he was in a maze. He went right. Then left, then another right, then choosing directions without thought, until he came to a path blocked by a single flower._

_It stood as high as he did, and waved gently in a breeze Harry couldn't feel. The petals were a dark, vibrant purple, fading into black in the middle, and a yellow dot in the center. A plaque stood before it._

Viola tricolor

_It said, and beneath that, _

Mendax traditurus.

_Harry didn't know enough Latin to understand the words._

"_I don't understand," he said. The letters on the plaque shifted_.

Common Pansy

Liar, Traitor

_Harry walked past the sign and reached for his wand. It wasn't there. Instead of hexing the plant, he grabbed it, attempting to pull it out of the ground. When that didn't work he tried shedding the petals, but even though they felt soft and pliant, they wouldn't tear._

"_What do you want!" Harry yelled at the plant._

_It didn't answer him._

"_Tell me how to get rid of you!" Harry demanded._

_It didn't answer him._

"_At least tell me what the Firewhiskey was spiked with."_

_Harry walked back over to the plaque._

Luteio sexus.

"_I don't understand," Harry said. "I told you, I don't speak Latin."_

Dirty sex.

"_Dirty sex," Harry said. "Draco knew that, he said he knew what Pansy had put in it. Had he meant it for me, or was she always his intention?"_

_The plaque said nothing, and the flower continued to sway in its own, private breeze._

_Harry walked back over to the flower._

"_Why won't you talk to me?" he asked. "Don't tell me to look at the bloody plaque, I want to hear it from you."_

_The flower split in two, and her voice filled the air, shrieking, so loudly Harry thought his ears would burst. "_You took him from us and you turned him into a mudblood-loving bloodtraitor wimp. He was meant for me, meant for much greater things than you, Harry Potter!_" The flower fell silent and repaired itself._

"_He—he said he loved me," Harry said. "He said he's loved me the whole time."_

_The flower stayed silent. Harry checked the plaque, but it was blank._

"_Tell me if he was telling me the truth," Harry demanded. "Tell me if he meant any of what he said."_

_Harry turned back to the plaque._

Noli rogare stultus quaestiones.

"_Would you stop speaking in Latin!" Harry yelled. "I've told you, I don't understand Latin!"_

Don't ask stupid questions.

"_I don't know what that means!" Harry yelled. "Stop speaking in riddles!"_

_The sphinx from the portrait stood next to Harry. "Riddles are the only truth in these gardens," it said. "And if you don't speak Latin, you hardly belong here in the first place."_

"_What are these gardens?" Harry asked. "They're just sunflowers."_

"_Hortum veritatis," the sphinx said. "I will not translate for you, Harry Potter. Think. You know what that means."_

_He raked his brain for any spare bit of Latin lying around. There wasn't any. "Honestly, I—" He cut off. That last word, that sounded almost like _Veritaserum. _So truth? Or something? And if they were in gardens, that combined with the word horticulture… "Garden of Truth?" Harry asked._

_The sphinx smiled. "Very good, Harry Potter."_

"_Why riddles then?"_

"_Aenigmata, excitarent cerebrum. Or, to put it in words you would understand, riddles wake the brain."_

_Harry had a headache. "I need to figure it out for myself, then."_

_The sphinx's smile widened. "I knew you'd get there eventually, Harry Potter."_

_Harry stood alone with the plaque and the flower._

"_You," he said, addressing the plaque, "are purposefully difficult. And you," he said, addressing the flower, "you are a brainless, ignorant twat. I won't listen to either of you anymore."_

_Harry turned around. The sunflowers had closed in behind him, making retreat impossible. He turned again. The plaque and the flower were gone._

"_Right then. Forward it is."_

Harry woke up to tapping. He was halfway to the window before he realized it was coming from the door. "Come in," he said, voice blurry with sleep.

"Door's locked."

Harry's brain suddenly focused, memories from last night flooding back, bringing fury with them. Harry grabbed his glasses and opened the door with a flick of his wand. Draco was leaning against the doorway, head in his hands, looking paler than Harry had ever seen him, as well as like he might throw up at any given moment. Harry turned away and started getting dressed.

"What happened last night?" Draco asked. "Tastes like a Flobberworm died in my mouth."

He didn't remember? He…he didn't remember. Harry found this even more infuriating. "Oh, nothing," he snapped, slamming the drawers open and closed, delighting in every time Draco winced against the noise. "We were studying, all of us, Ron, Hermione, Neville—"

"Yes, yes, I remember that part," Draco said, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. "Pansy and Blaise showed up with Firewhiskey and your friends left, I've got that much. Then what?"

Harry threw a pile of clothes at Draco. "Here. Get dressed."

Draco groaned. "Is it time for class already? It felt earlier than that."

"We're going to have a game of Quidditch first," Harry said firmly. "We haven't played in weeks."

Draco looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. "You really think now, while I'm like this, is a good time for a game?" He squinted. "Harry, have you been crying?"

"I dunno, Draco, can you think of any reason why I might have been?" Harry asked, pulling on his clothes. "Hurry up, we haven't got the field for long. Ron got me a copy of the schedule, and Hufflepuffs have practice at seven."

"It's before seven?" Draco asked, though he did start to get dressed. "I can't believe I'm letting you talk me out of another hour of sleep."

"You owe me," Harry said.

"For what? Did I keep you up late or something?"

Harry's hands balled into fists. "Not exactly. Come on, it's almost six-thirty already." He grabbed Draco by the arm as soon as he was fully clothed, muttered "_Alohamora_" under his breath, and their door swung open. Draco had gotten himself free by the time they were down the stairs, and Harry unstuck the portrait quietly enough that Draco couldn't hear him. He saw the sphinx start to say something, and Harry glared beseechingly at it. "Not now," he whispered.

The sphinx gave him a look, but stayed silent.

The walk down to the Quidditch pitch was slower than Harry would have liked given the state Draco was in, but soon enough they had their brooms out and Draco released the snitch into the sky, squinting in what Harry supposed was very bright sunlight to him.

"Here," he said, tossing something at Draco. "Think you'll want this."

Draco stared at it blindly for a minute. "A Beater's bat?" he asked. "What—?"

"Let's just say I've got the need to hit a heavy ball around," Harry said, taking his own bat. "Repeatedly. At length. For the rest of the day." Not entirely sure what would happen, Harry unlocked one of the Bludgers. It flew onto the field and circled the perimeter angrily, waiting for the boys to fly within bounds.

"Harry, did I say something last night? Because, really, whatever it was—"

"You didn't say a thing," Harry interrupted. "Let's just leave the stakes that whoever doesn't get their head bashed in wins, yeah?"

"Harry, this really isn't a good idea," Draco said apprehensively. "Even at my best, I'm hardly strong enough—"

"Stop whining and get on your damned broom," Harry snapped. Draco did as he said, perhaps too hung over to argue. "On my count." Harry rocketed onto the field and the Bludger immediately changed course. He slammed it as hard as he could, loving the _crack_ the bat made when it connected. The Bludger careened off, and Harry had a chance to glance at Draco. It seemed flying was finally waking him up, and he steadily sped up until he was at Harry's side.

"What is going on?" he asked, ducking as the Bludger flew towards him. "Really, since when we play with Bludgers?"

"I told you, I feel the inexplicable need to hit something," Harry said lightly. "Can't imagine why." He whirled around and swung at the Bludger just before it slammed into his face, sending it hurtling across the field. He sped away from Draco, keeping an eye out for the snitch, but mostly taking out his anger on the Bludger. No doubt he wouldn't be able to move his shoulder at all by the end of the day, but it was all worth it for that satisfying _slam_ when the Bludger and bat connected. He was actually starting to get good at it, and the next time the Bludger flew by him, he hit it towards Draco, checking himself only at the very last minute.

"Potter!" Draco yelled, swerving to avoid it. He stayed on his broom, but Harry thought he was on the very edge of balance. He was forced into a nosedive to avoid the Bludger before rocketing back up, the iron ball still on his tail. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? If you thought this would be funny—"

"Didn't occur to me once," Harry said. Draco finally managed to hit the Bludger, but he was hardly built to be a Beater, and it only drifted slowly over to where Harry was waiting for it. "I'm playing Quidditch, what does it look like?" He knocked the Bludger back in Draco's direction.

"Well, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to kill me," Draco yelled, this time nearly avoiding a collision with a goal post as the Bludger whistled by his ear before changing direction and nearly slamming into the back of his head. He jerked his bat at it, more trying to avoid impact that to hit it in any specific direction.

"Me, trying to kill you?" Harry asked, almost lazily. He was feeling so much better than this morning and even last night; the wind was in his hair, the snitch was whizzing around somewhere, and he got to hit heavy things in Draco's direction all under the guise of a game. He glided over to the Bludger and almost absentmindedly hit it in Draco's direction. "Why would I be trying to do that?"

"Bloody hell, how should I know?" Draco snapped, spiraling upwards, trying to shake the damned ball. "Seriously, Potter, my head is still pounding, I can hardly see straight, and if you keep forcing me into moves like this, I'm going to throw up."

Harry had to hold back a sneer. "That'd be your problem, _Malfoy_, not mine." He hovered, waiting for Draco to send the Bludger back in his direction. Almost before he could react it flew towards him; maybe Draco was finally starting to get angry, or maybe he was just trying not to die, Harry didn't know. But it gave him the extra momentum he needed, and this time his shot connected, hitting the side of Draco's head with a dull, dangerous sounding _thunk_. Draco reached up to his head as if in a daze, gently touching the side of his head and looking at the blood on his fingers.

"Draco?" Harry asked uncertainly. His intention had been to take his anger out on the ball, not on Draco, though he supposed he wouldn't have minded too terribly if Draco had broken an arm, or fallen from his broom, as long as he wasn't too high up. But this was much, much more than that, Harry could see even from this distance. "Are you alright?"

The Bludger, seeming to have decided on an alliance, flew back to Harry and started circling his head, waiting for further instructions. Harry batted it away angrily, getting more and more worried. "Draco!" he called out sharply, flying over to him. "Draco, look at me."

Draco did manage to look at him, but his eyes were unfocused, and they quickly slid past Harry to some point over his shoulder. "Harry," he said, almost dreamily. "Harry, I think I've got to—" His eyes rolled into the back of his head and if it weren't for Harry's Seeker reflexes, he would have fallen from his broom, and this was not the height Harry had been imagining. But he got a hold on the back of his robes and pulled Draco onto his own broom, scooting backwards to allow room for both of them. Harry hovered nervously, trying to plan his next move. Blood was flowing heavily from Draco's head, staining his silvery hair an unpleasant maroon, the Bludger was still circling his head, and Draco's broom was somehow still in the air, floating next to him. There was no way he could carry Draco to the infirmary, he wasn't that strong, nor could he fly into the castle like this.

That left him with only one choice. Trying to figure out where the hospital wing was from the outside, Harry flew around the castle, finally finding Madame Pomfrey sitting at her desk, going over paperwork. He flew as close to the window as he dared before yelling her name. She jumped up, hand going to her chest, and opened the window.

"Potter!" she shrieked. Harry didn't think he had ever heard her so angry. "What in Merlin's beard happened?"

"Bludger accident," Harry said. "I don't know—"

"Clearly, Potter," she snapped. "Go on over to the other window, it's the infirmary, and I'll take it from there." Harry did as she said, staying on his broom as Draco was levitated onto a hospital bed. "Bludger to the head?" she asked.

"Yeah. Also, um, he's probably pretty hung over," Harry said. Now that he said it out loud, he was all too aware of how incredibly stupid his actions seemed.

"Don't just stay there!" Madame Pomfrey yelled. "Get back to the Quidditch field and lock that thing up before it can do anymore damage!"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, and quickly flew away.

It took quite a while for him to wrestle the Bludger back into the box; once it realized what he was trying to do, any allegiance it felt disappeared, and Harry only barely managed to get it locked away. He put Draco's broom back in his changing rooms and was about to go inside when he remembered the snitch. Cursing loudly, he flew onto the field and, thankfully, saw the snitch nearly immediately. It, too, put up quite a fight, but eventually Harry managed to grab it and put it away. His own broom went back into the Gryffindor rooms, and then he was all but running inside and up to the infirmary.

"Is he okay?" Harry gasped, running into the room, slamming into and knocking over a tray of supplies.

Madame Pomfrey glared at him. "No thanks to you," she said, magicking the supplies back to where they belonged. "What on earth made you think practicing with a Bludger was a good idea, Harry Potter? You know full well they're not permitted to be removed without at least one Beater and the Captain of the team present, and I think it obvious that was not the case this morning."

Harry didn't have an answer for her. His eyes were fixed on Draco, who was as white as the sheets he was lying on. There was gauze wrapped around his head and a dangerous looking bloody spot slowly blooming on one side. "Is he going to be okay?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, he'll be fine," Madame Pomfrey said. "He just needs to sleep it off." She turned back to Harry, hands on her hips. "Of all the times to break the rules, and of all the rules to break, what could have possibly possessed you to play with Bludgers while _hung over_? I've already sent an owl Headmaster McGonagall explaining what happened, so don't think you'll escape this unscathed." Then her face softened, just slightly, and a chair appeared next to Draco's bed. "You can stay until he wakes up, as long as your urge for bloodlust has been satisfied."

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry said, taking his place by Draco's side.

"I've also owled your professors, warning them not to expect you or Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you," Harry repeated. He took Draco's hand in both of his, the weight of what he had done finally crashing down on him. Draco may have cheated on him, but he had been drunk, and even if he hadn't been, was a Bludger to the head really an appropriate response? Harry rested his head on their joined hands, wishing desperately for Madame Pomfrey to be right, for Draco to be okay.


	30. Chapter 30: Don't Leave

**A/N:** Thanks for sticking with me through _Firewhiskey_! I've rewritten this chapter about a gajillion times trying to make it as perfect as possible, and I think I've arrived at the best it's going to be so I need to stop tinkering with it land. It's actually a bit fluffy, for my fluff fans out there. And the next chapter is even a bit silly, for those who enjoy Ron and his antics.

But really, love. Lots of love. Love for you, my readers reviewers, love for Harry and Draco, love _between_ Harry and Draco, just love. That's what we're all hear for, _non_?

Oh, and I forgot to add a note last chapter about taking some liberties with how Bludgers work, and I super appreciate not getting flamed at for it. You guys are the greatest! :D

**Chapter Thirty:**

_**Don't leave.**_

Harry didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he was woken up by Hermione's voice, amplified a thousand times over.

"_**DRACONUIUS MALFOY, I CANNOT BELIEVE YOUR BEHAVIOUR, NOT WHEN HARRY WAS KIND ENOUGH TO ALLOW YOUR FRIENDS TO STAY AT THE EXPENSE OF THE REST OF US LEAVING, NOT AFTER ALL HE'S PUT UP WITH FROM YOU. HE HAS FORGIVEN YOU AND YOUR FAMILY FOR THINGS A LESSER WIZARD WOULD HAVE KILLED FOR, AND THIS IS HOW YOU GO ABOUT REPAYING HIM? BY SNOGGING PANSY PARKINSON? THERE ARE PICTURES UP OVER THE ENTIRE SCHOOL, HEAVENS KNOWS HOW SHE MANAGED THAT, AND WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK NOW? BY ALL RIGHTS HARRY SHOULD LEAVE YOU IMMEDIATELY BUT KNOWING HIM, HE'LL STAY BY YOUR SIDE, NOT THAT YOU DESERVE IT! AND HOW DO YOU THINK THAT WILL MAKE HIM LOOK, STAYING WITH THE PERSON WHO HAS COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY HUMILIATED HIM? YOU SHOULD CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY YOU GOT NO MORE THAN A BLUDGER TO THE HEAD; IF I HAD BEEN THERE, I WOULD HAVE—"**_

The Howler cut off, leaving Harry's ears ringing. Draco groaned and attempted to sit up, but settled for leaning on his elbows, one hand going to his head.

Madame Pomfrey stuck her head in from her office and said, "No Howlers in the infirmary," she stated. "Ten points from Gryffindor," before going back to her paperwork.

"That's one way to wake up," Draco muttered, rubbing at his temples. "What're you doing here?"

"Waiting to see if you're okay," Harry said carefully. He wasn't sure what Draco remembered, or if he had been lucid enough to understand the Howler, and for the first time in quite a while, Harry found himself rather shy around Draco.

"My mouth still tastes like a Flobberworm," he said. "And I've got the worst headache I've ever had—nice shot, by the way, you'd make a decent Beater—but I imagine I'll survive." He lay back against the blankets, and Harry once again took his hand. Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you think you're playing at?" he asked sharply, taking his hand back. "Why are you here? I'd have thought you'd never look at me again."

"You remember last night, then," Harry said.

"Yeah, a hit on the head ought to do it, not to mention Granger's Howler," Draco replied. "Are you so noble as to need to break it off officially, while I'm lucid? I assure you, Potter, that isn't necessary. I got the message right around the time you almost killed me."

"I—I'm not going to break up with you," Harry said, only becoming certain of the words when he said them.

Draco stared at him. "You're not." It wasn't a question, just a blunt statement of disbelief.

"No."

Draco continued to stare at him. "Care to elaborate, or shall I just guess why? Planning some new, fascinating way of making my life miserable my dragging me around school like—"

"Shut up," Harry said. "Look, unless what happened with Pansy was meant as a way of breaking up with me, I'm not leaving." Draco remained silent. "Well? Was it?" Harry asked, suddenly finding he was precariously close to tears again.

"No, of course not," Draco snapped, turning away from Harry, curling up so he couldn't see him.

"Then I think it's your turn to explain yourself," Harry said.

Draco sighed. "I just—it had been so long since I'd hung out with Pansy, and we've been best friends for almost all our lives, and we've been sexually involved since, I don't know, third year or something, and I just—it just happened. And, y'know, I was drunk, and the Firewhiskey was spiked, but I knew that, so I don't know."

"Have any intentions of it happening again?" Harry said. He wasn't entirely satisfied with Draco's answer to his other question, not at all, but right now, this was more important.

"No," Draco said firmly. "Never again. I have no doubt she planned the whole thing to break us up, to get me and her back together—she hates dating Blaise, but she hates being single even more, and I'm her preferred arm candy—and I can promise you, I will not be seeing her again."

Harry stayed silent, not knowing what to say. He had no doubt Draco was right; Pansy had practically told him that herself last night. But this wasn't just an innocent flirtation. He couldn't let it go at that, even taking into account the Bludger. "You broke my trust," Harry said. "I barely trusted you in the first place, I certainly didn't have any reason to, but I did, and you ruined it."

"I know," Draco said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure," Harry said, and he was, mostly. "What do you want me to do now, Draco? Or, even better, what are _you_ going to do? I won't leave you; I told you I would stay, and I will, but what do you expect me to do?"

"I don't want your pity," Draco said. "I don't want you to stay with me out of some stupid sense of obligation. If you insist on a relationship founded on such nonsense, I'll break up with you myself."

"That's not why I'm staying," Harry said angrily. "Would you really expect me to do that? If I was that sort of person I'd still be with Ginny, now wouldn't I? I had far more of an obligation to her than to you."

Draco rolled around to face him, and Harry saw his eyes were filled with unshed tears, turning his stone grey eyes into wavy oceans. "Then why are you still here?" he demanded. "I—I've done everything humanly possibly to make you hate me, so why the fuck are you still sitting here?"

"I don't know!" Harry said, then lowered his voice as Madame Pomfrey briefly stuck her head out. "I don't know, okay? Remember how I told you a part of me would always hate you? Well, you're certainly making that easy enough. But I can't just—" Harry broke off. He took Draco's hand again and gently kissed his fingers. "I need you. I've told you that before, too. I need you in my life. Sometime between that first day in Diagon Alley and sitting here right now, that changed into needing you with me, at my side, not against me. I—Draco, please don't go."

Draco was staring at him as if he was daft, and Harry supposed that was fair enough. "I still love you," Draco said. "I've loved you far longer than Pansy and I have been fucking, and I loved you last night, even when she kissed me, even when I had my hand on her breast. I—" His breath hitched. "—well, if I didn't know any better, and I daresay I don't, I'd say I'd love you forever. Even if you insist on hitting me in the head with Bludgers."

Harry kissed his fingers again. "Move over, would you?" Draco scooted over to the very edge of the bed and Harry lay next to him, reversing their usual position; this time Draco was on his back and Harry was wrapped around him. "I don't know what to say," Harry said quietly. "I should hate you, I want to hate you, and a small part of me does, but much, much bigger than that is something else, and I don't understand, and I hate you even more for that."

Draco smiled slightly. "I do believe you just said you love me," he said. "In a roundabout, strangely romantic sort of way."

"Maybe," Harry said. "I don't know. I'm bollocks at this sort of thing—at dating, I mean, not at _this_, which I haven't any idea how to deal with."

"I imagine hitting me in the head with a Bludger is a good start," Draco replied. "Perhaps transfiguration is next; I do make an excellent ferret, as Moody proved. Or you could always hex me—maybe a full body bind, to prevent me from doing anything stupid again? Or," he said, a glint in his eye, "you could just cuff me to the bed and do with me as you wish."

"I don't think that's punishment, Draco," Harry said with a small smile. "I don't intend on punishing you at all. I need to know it's me, _only_ me, no matter how much you drink, no matter what it's spiked with. I need to be able to trust you."

"It is you," Draco said firmly. "Nobody else. Never. I expect the rest will have to be earned back the old-fashioned way; slowly, in starts and stops, no doubt with me blundering along, making mistakes all the time—though nothing like this. No, I do believe I have learned my lessons about both drinking and Pansy Parkinson all in one night." Draco tightened his hand on Harry's shoulder. "So you're really here, and you're really not leaving?"

"As long as you don't leave me for Pansy."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Not in a million years."

Harry leaned up to kiss him, but Draco turned away at the last second, leaving only his cheek. "Draco?" Harry asked, gently turning his head so they were facing each other.

Draco closed his eyes. "After kissing Pansy last night, it just doesn't feel right, like I ought to wash out my mouth first. Besides, I'm sure I taste like something awful."

"I don't care," Harry said. "I need to kiss you. I need you, please."

Draco sighed guiltily. "I should be the one begging for your attention, not the other way around. You can have anything from me, anything and everything."

Harry kept his hand on Draco's cheek and kissed him properly. Draco was right, he did taste like stale alcohol and morning breath, but Harry couldn't care less. He needed the last person to have kissed Draco to be himself, and no one else.

"Oh for goodness sake."

Harry jerked around to see Hermione standing at the end of the bed, arms crossed. Ron was standing next to her, looking positively livid.

"How is it even possible that this is what I see?" Hermione continued, voice rising. "I came here to _comfort_ you, Harry, not watch you make out with that—that—"

"Go on, Granger," Draco drawled, sounding entirely like himself. "Give it your best shot. Throw whatever insults at me you like. Just make sure Pomfrey doesn't hear; you've already gotten ten points taken from Gryffindor with that Howler."

Hermione flushed. "Never mind," she snapped. "I'm not even speaking to you. Neither of us are, are we?"

"I should bloody well think not!" Ron said. "Harry, blimey, what is wrong with you? You deserve better than Malfoy scum."

Harry snuggled further into Draco's arms. "I don't want anyone else," he said, feeling very foolish but determined. "Come on, Ron. What if Hermione got really drunk and snogged, I don't know, Dean? You'd forgive her, wouldn't you?"

"Well—yes, but—" Ron stammered. "She's _Hermione_. I love her." Hermione's ears pinked.

"Well, there you go," Harry said.

Madame Pomfrey bustled over before the conversation could continue. "Potter, get off Malfoy's bed. Don't be ridiculous. And you, Malfoy, I've got to unwrap your bandage and see how you're healing up. How's your headache?"

"Not any better," he said. "The room stopped spinning, mostly, and the double vision is nearly gone."

Harry gaped at him. "Draco, why didn't you tell me—?"

"Potter, be quiet," Madame Pomfrey said sharply. "Do you think you can walk, or do you need to be kept here overnight?"

"I'm sure I'm fine," Draco said.

Madame Pomfrey frowned at him. "This is no place for pride or arrogance, Malfoy. What if I let you go too soon and you fell down the stairs, what then? You could end up at St. Mungo's, and it would be all your fault."

"Really, I'm okay," Draco said, losing the bravado. "Just a bit shaky around the edges."

"Hmfph," Madame Pomfrey said. She lifted his hair, gently palpitating the wound. "You look better. Almost completely knitted together." She turned to Harry. "If I let him go, he will be under your care, and it will be your responsibility to make sure he stays in bed for the rest of the day and, if anything seems wrong, you will bring him straight back to me, and not on a broomstick."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said.

Madame Pomfrey harrumphed again. "Alright. Fine, you're discharged. Strict bed rest until tomorrow, when you will no longer have an excuse not to return to classes, so don't even try."

"Yes ma'am," Draco echoed.

She continue to stare at him, then walked away shaking her head, muttering under her breath about Bludgers and the sheer _stupidity_ of students.

Draco was about to stand when Professor McGonagall swept into the room, followed by Professor Slughorn. Harry did his best to shrink into his chair, not meeting McGonagall's eyes.

"So," she said. "Madame Pomfrey has informed me of your morning activities, as well as something about spiked Firewhiskey last night?" Neither Harry nor Draco acknowledged this. "Professor Slughorn and I have agreed fifty points from each house; from Slytherin for the inane thought of spiking an already strong enough drink and from Gryffindor for breaking the rules about playing with Bludgers. For now, I am willing to believe Mr. Malfoy's injury was an accident, especially since I see you, Mr. Potter, by his side, but don't think I won't change my mind if new evidence comes to light. Boys, when I gave you the keys to the East Tower, I expected much more from you." Harry's stomach clenched. It was always the disappointment that got to him. The rest was just formalities as far as he was concerned.

"You shouldn't dock points from Gryffindor," Draco said. "I agreed to play, it was just as much my fault as his."

"I don't appreciate being told how to do my job, Mr. Malfoy, nor do I think someone as supposedly intelligent as yourself would willingly decide to take out a bludger, given your state."

Draco looked down. "Sorry, Professor."

McGonagall eyed them severely.

"Please let us stay," Harry said quietly.

Her eyebrows shot up. "A single infraction is hardly enough to warrant removing you from your current situation. A second, however, would be highly suspicious, and would result in consequences much more severe. Mr. Malfoy, you will serve one week of detention with Professor Slughorn. I believe he has some old cauldrons that need to be hand-cleaned, am I correct?"

"I do indeed," he said. "And Draco, really. I expect far greater things from you than skipping class and breaking rules."

"Mr. Potter, you will serve three nights of detention with me," McGonagall said. "It should no doubt be longer but, like I said, I am choosing to believe in an unfortunate accident than a premeditated injury. I will leave it to your imagination as to what I will have you do. I have been informed that Mr. Malfoy is on bed rest with the stipulation that Mr. Potter keep an eye on him, so your detentions will not start until tomorrow. This means you, Mr. Malfoy, will still be with Professor Slughorn this weekend, and will miss going to Hogsmeade."

"Yes, Professor," Draco said dutifully.

"Just mind that you don't do anything to lose any further Hogsmeade privileges," McGonagall replied. "However, in the mean time, I believe I have covered everything. Horace, have you anything to add?"

"Only my disappointment in such fine students," he said, and Harry squirmed again. "Yet I believe there is hope for you yet. Draco, you shall meet me in my office at eight, beginning tomorrow night. If you are late, Slytherin will lose a point for each minute. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Draco replied.

"Very good. And do feel better, Draco. We can't lose our best potion-maker, not so early in the year. Though that sixth year, Aurora Jones, is giving you a run for your money."

"That is quite enough," McGonagall said. "Eight o'clock, Potter, don't forget."

And with that, they were gone. Ron and Hermione were still standing at the end of the bed, looking ready to lecture Draco for the rest of the foreseeable future, but they remained quiet as Draco started to stand. He stumbled and Harry caught him, putting Draco's arm on his shoulder and his own arm around Draco's waist.

"You're sure you're ready to leave," Harry said.

"Absolutely," Draco replied. "I despise the infirmary. If only I had Father's cane, I wouldn't need your assistance. But seeing as I do, let's get a move on, shall we?" Hermione and Ron trailed behind them, and Harry suspected both he and Draco were to be on the receiving end of some particularly nasty words.

"Oh, look," Draco said conversationally. "There's one of those posters Granger mentioned." He slipped out from Harry's grasp and slowly walked towards it, resting a hand on the wall to steady himself. "_**SLYTHERINS FINALLY GET THEIR LEADER BACK.**_ Hardly," Draco scoffed. "And that picture is truly horrid; I look an absolute mess, and Pansy rather like an unattractive dog." He drew his wand from his pocket and tapped the flyer three times. "_Pergameno exstirpamus_." The poster disappeared in small puff of smoke. "That ought to do it; I expect them all gone by now. Come now, let's move on. No point in staring at the wall all day."

The rest of the day was not exactly pleasant. Draco decided the couch was more appropriate than the bed and gave Harry careful instructions as he did both the potion required for class today, as well as the one for Wednesday. It would have been almost tolerable, had he not been quite so arrogant about the whole thing.

"You really oughtn't need all these pointers, not by eighth year," Draco stated when the potion was done. Harry remained silent, opening his Transfiguration book rather than comment. "Harry, dear, I'm afraid I can't read, my vision hasn't quite returned to normal. It would be ever so kind of you to read aloud the chapter we're on."

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco hadn't had a problem seeing every little thing Harry did incorrectly to their potion, but it was easier to go along with him than argue. He read the chapter aloud, then the chapter from Charms, before moving on to write his essays. "And before you ask, no, you will not dictate your essays to me," Harry said sternly. "You've got two working arms, put them to use. If you handwriting is subpar, I'm sure your professors will understand."

Draco sighed dramatically, but did as he was told. The rest of the afternoon was spent in silence doing homework, aside from Draco's frequent complaints, which did not make for an enjoyable time. The only highlight came as something even more annoying—a surprise visit from Ron and Hermione. Harry thought they were probably checking on him, as well as on Draco's head, but they admitted to neither, instead standing as close to the door as possible, and spoke only as condescendingly as possible.

"Draco, you are a selfish idiot, and Harry, you're blind if you don't see it," Hermione said by way of greeting.

"I know, 'Mione," Harry said wearily.

"Ronald, do you have an idea of when we can begin conversing with these two dolts again?" Hermione asked.

"I should think not for a week at least," Ron replied.

Harry buried his head in his hands. Not this, not again.

"Perhaps longer," Hermione said. "Though, if we're feeling particularly kind—"

"—which is a pretty big if—"

"—we may consider letting Harry off early," Hermione finished. "Perhaps in time for a Hogsmeade trip Saturday."

"Indeed," Ron said. "And, I suppose spending all week playing chess with Neville might grate on my nerves."

"I suspect it would indeed."

"So perhaps leniency can be shown to Malfoy as well," Ron mused. "Though only if he keeps his mouth shut."

"Perhaps," Hermione said loftily. "Come now, Ronald, we wouldn't want to be late for dinner, now would we?"

"We most certainly wouldn't."

And with that they were gone again.

"Well that was infuriating," Draco said. He set his Herbology essay down and rubbed his eyes. "I really do have double vision, I wasn't making that up. It's not so bad as when I first woke up, but I'm getting quite a headache from all this studying. I think a break is in order, don't you?"

There was a knock on the door; house elves delivering dinner. "Uncanny," Harry said suspiciously. "How they appeared just as you asked for a break."

"It's not my fault if it's dinnertime," Draco said. He sat up shakily, leaning heavily against the arm of the couch. "Serve me, would you? Leaning forward makes me dizzy. And remember, Pomfrey said you must take care of me."

Harry sighed. "Fine."

Halfway through dinner Carus arrived. Harry read the letter aloud, letting Draco rest his eyes.

_My dearest Draco,_

_Your father began his testimony today. He intended to begin the story when the Dark Lord rose again four years ago, but the courts demanded to hear an account of all the years between the first war and the second. Needless to say, this has slowed the proceedings significantly. Whether it is good news or not remains unclear; as you know, your father was not an active Death Eater for those years, but perhaps the court's standards are different than our own._

_The day ended with your father's account of being summoned to the graveyard after the Dark Lord rose. The court seemed to believe him when he said he had been punished for not upholding Death Eater values; perhaps the first time the Dark Lord's vengeance on our family has worked to our favor._

_Tomorrow, I believe, he will begin with the Quidditch World Cup, and move on from there. These are tumultuous times indeed, and that tale will hardly impress the court. I believe the trial now rests on your father's shoulders—whether he will be willing to admit to the humiliation he suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord, of Bella, of all the others who ascended to a power beyond his own. Pray that your father's arrogance will not be his downfall._

_All my love,_

_Mum._

Draco had closed his eyes and was resting one hand over them, and had taken Harry's hand in his other. "If what Mother said is the truth, I do not see a favorable outcome," he said. "Father's arrogance knows no bounds, and I can hardly see him admitting how far we fell."

"You never know," Harry said, though from what little he knew of the man, he agreed with Draco. "Anybody can change. You did."

Draco's face contorted into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. "Yeah. Anyway, would you owl Mother back for me? I'm afraid I wasted my writing abilities on those blasted essays."

Harry didn't argue, not this time. Instead he merely grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and waited for instruction.

"Mother—Thank you for the news. Every day, I watch the skies for Carus, waiting to hear from you. It seems things could be far worse, and I am grateful for Father's candor. Hopefully he can continue his honesty throughout the rest of the trial.

"And, a brief note to lift your spirits. I took Harry to our owl breeder this weekend, and I bought him a barn owl. Perhaps not as impressive as Carus, and certainly not as handsome as Dommy was, but a fine bird nonetheless.

"Kisses,

"Draco."

Harry tied the note to Carus' leg, and he swept away. Draco sighed. "I do wish Mother would let me attend the trial, at least for Father's testimony. But I suppose I've missed enough classes as it is, and it wouldn't do to drop so far behind this early in the year."

Harry took Draco's hand again and squeezed it. "It's going to be fine," he said firmly. "I promise. No matter the sentencing, you and your mum will carry on. And, y'know, you've got me."

Draco smiled. "That I do."

The rest of the evening was much more pleasant, at least at first. Draco put off the rest of his homework, complaining of a slightly suspicious headache, and Draco convinced Harry to read him poetry. Harry sat at the end of the couch, Draco's feet on his lap, and Draco closed his eyes as he listened, continually rubbing at his temples. Probably not faking, then. Harry stumbled over some of the more traditional words, but Draco didn't seem to mind.

"Mm, Harry, can we move to bed?" Draco asked around eight. "I know it's early, but I'm terribly exhausted, and my head is getting worse again."

"Do you need to go back to the infirmary?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't think so, I just need quiet and darkness, and perhaps a warm compress." He sat up, heavily leaning on Harry. "Please lie with me?" he said quietly. "I can't bear the thought of being kicked out of bed two nights in a row."

"I didn't kick you out of bed last night," Harry said angrily, removing Draco from himself and standing up. "You passed out on the couch."

"Yes, but you would have, even if I hadn't," Draco said. "I assume that's why the door was locked. A rather daft decision, I think. What if I needed to throw up in the middle of the night, what then?"

"Don't be an idiot, there's a sink in your potions bench," Harry replied. He felt anger starting to build again and he sat back down, on the chair this time. He had pushed it out of the way out of concern for Draco, and ignoring it seemed so much easier, but that was too much, that one, little sentence. "And so what if I had kicked you out? You would've deserved it, snogging Parkinson like that."

Draco's eyes slipped shut and he rested a hand over them. "Please, Harry, I've got an awful headache. Let's just go to bed, okay?"

Harry slammed the Nicholas Skye book down on the table. "No, it's not okay," he said. "Draco, how could you expect this to be okay, for _us_ to be okay after what you did? I get that you were drunk, I get that you missed Pansy, or whatever you call it. But is that really an excuse for what you did?"

Draco moved his hand and cracked his eyes open. "No," he said quietly. "Of course not. I didn't mean to imply—"

"Yes you _did_," Harry insisted. "You were so gallant in the hospital wing, taking all the blame and telling me how much you love me. But as soon as we got back here, as soon as you were lying down, you ordered me around, making me do our potions homework, making me read Transfiguration and Charms to you, and even your fucking precious poetry. And now you're asking me to take you to bed? Were all of your apologies an act so I wouldn't be upset with you, or are you really so dense as to think what you said solves everything?"

Draco was squirming uncomfortably. "No, Harry, of course it wasn't an act. I don't know what I thought. I guess that you would understand, and you'd taken out most of your anger with the Bludger. I never meant to say you shouldn't be upset with me, or that what happened would just disappear. I just—Harry, I just have an awful headache, I've had since I've woken up, and I can't think straight. Can't we continue this later, when I'm feeling better?"

"No," Harry said petulantly. "We'll talk about it now."

Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright," he said quietly. "We'll talk. You first. Go ahead, let me have it."

Harry found he didn't have the words for what he needed to say. He wasn't even sure what he _wanted_ to say. All this anger was building up again, and he just wanted to scream, or throw things, or possibly break down into tears. Words seemed far beyond him.

Eventually Draco couldn't take it any longer. "Harry, please, whatever you've got to say, just say it. I can't stand waiting like this, not knowing what you're thinking."

"What were _you_ thinking?" Harry threw back. "Last night, when you had your hand on her breast and your tongue in her mouth. Tell me what was going through _your_ head."

"I was horny," Draco replied, a blush creeping up his neck. "I was horny, and there was a warm body beneath mine that wanted me."

"Then it wasn't even her, it was just whoever was closest and willing?" Harry asked.

"I guess," Draco replied. "I was thinking that the kiss felt wrong, and I was confused as to why there were breasts, though I suppose not enough to stop."

"So, what, did you think it was me?"

"I don't know!" Draco broke out, then immediately winced and put his hand over his eyes. Harry felt a little guilty about questioning him like this when he was so obviously uncomfortable, but he couldn't stop, not here. "I don't know, I don't remember, I was drunk and I wanted sex and, yeah, she was closer, and no, it didn't feel good, or right, but no, I didn't stop, even with that."

Harry gripped the arms of his chair. Draco's answers were infuriating but, Harry supposed, honest, which only made them more frustrating. There was never a simple yes or no, never a clean-cut answer. "Did you think about me at all?" he asked, and found he had to force his voice to come out evenly, to not crack. "While you were kissing her?"

"I don't know," Draco said. "It was so short, I was really drunk, I wasn't thinking much. I told you, it felt strange she had breasts. Does that count?"

"No," Harry said. Again, tears seemed perilously close, and he had to work to keep them from falling. "Though it doesn't sound like you were thinking of her, either."

"I wasn't thinking at all," Draco said firmly. "Maybe that's worse, but I definitely wasn't thinking about her."

He wasn't thinking at all. He had almost thrown their entire relationship away because he was too drunk to realize kissing someone and feeling them up wasn't okay. Harry felt the first tear slip down his face and wiped it away angrily. But it was hopeless; tears kept coming, falling desperately, Harry doing all he could to stay quiet. Draco still had his eyes closed, and he wasn't at all keen on being seen like this, not now. In fact, he felt like a bloody idiot.

"And what if you don't think again?" Harry asked, voice coming out remarkably clear given the crying. "What if you go to a bar, or a party, and I'm not there, and you get drunk and want sex? How do you expect me to trust you again?"

"I don't know." Draco's voice was so quiet Harry could barely hear it. "I don't know why I'm here, why I've been allowed back in our apartment, why you've been with me all day. You told me you weren't going to break up with me; why? Why would you say something like that, why would you do that?"

"I love you," Harry said, and that time his voice did crack. Draco opened his eyes, and saw how pathetic Harry looked, sitting alone in a chair by the fireplace, crying his eyes out. "Fuck you, Draco. Fuck you for making me fall for you, fuck you for what you did with Pansy, fuck you for seeing me like this." Again, he tried to wipe his tears away, but they wouldn't stop falling.

"Harry—" Draco sighed, struggling into a seated position. "Harry, no, please don't cry over me, I'm not worth it."

"Stop it with the self-pity," Harry snapped, starting to cry harder. He forced himself to look away from Draco, to keep his eyes on the fireplace. "You don't deserve to feel guilty." He was vaguely aware his words didn't make any sense, but he couldn't stop talking. "After what you did, you deserve nothing better than that Bludger to the head. I should have let you fall when you passed out; I didn't have to grab you, I didn't have to take you to Madame Pomfrey, but I did, and I fucking stayed with you, and I shouldn't have but I love you and it's your fucking fault."

"I know," Draco whispered. "You can still leave, or kick me out, whichever suits you. I won't blame you for saying you'd stay and then taking it back. Whatever made you say it in the first place—"

"_I love you_," Harry interrupted. "Just—fuck, Draco, I don't know. Do you still love me? Did you ever? Or were you just using me?"

"Of course I love you," Draco said, almost angrily. "I told you, I've loved you since I first saw you. Why on earth would I embarrass myself like that if I didn't mean it? Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"

"Not half as bad as watching you make out with Pansy Parkinson," Harry shot back. "I was _right there_, Draco. If you needed sex so bad, was the two feet from the couch to the chair really too much for you? And if I hadn't been there to stop you, would you have fucked her?"

"No," Draco said. "I'm almost certain I wouldn't have. If nothing else, I'm pretty sure once I realized she had a vagina instead of your cock I would have stopped."

"Pretty sure," Harry echoed. "Almost certain. Fucking brilliant." He was still crying, and he hated himself for it, and he hated Draco for it. Shouldn't Draco be the one who was upset, who was crying, begging for forgiveness? "Are you upset at all about this?" he asked angrily. "You've been so even tempered, so goddamned quiet, while I'm sitting here fucking bawling. Aren't you the slightest bit upset about what happened?"

"Harry," Draco sighed. "Harry, you have no idea. I was trained, when my father was upset, to be quiet, to make myself scarce, to pretend nothing was wrong. I spent _years_ during the war pretending nothing was wrong. It comes naturally to me. But don't you dare think I'm not upset, that I don't hate myself for what I did." Harry heard him get up, heard as he walked over to Harry's char, saw out of the corner of his eye as Draco kneeled before him. "Look at me. Please."

Very angrily, and not knowing why he was, Harry did as Draco asked. He was still crying, no doubt eyes red and puffy, cheeks bright red from anger, hair a mess from having run his fingers through it the way he always did when he was upset. "What?" he asked. "What do you want?"

Draco took his face in his hands, gently wiping his tears away. Harry let him, not having the energy to stop him, not when it felt so good for Draco to touch him, especially like this. He held Draco's gaze and saw it in his eyes, how they were those watery oceans again, how even though he hadn't shed a tear and almost certainly wouldn't, his eyes gave him away.

"I'm so sorry," Draco said, and though his voice cracked, he still didn't cry. "I think this is the part where I'm supposed to beg you to stay, to not leave me, to love me forever." He paused. "That wasn't exactly begging; I haven't done it much, I'm not used to it. Would you like me to rephrase?"

Harry couldn't help a small laugh. "No, Draco, it's fine."

Draco sat up further, resting his knees on the couch between Harry's legs, keeping his hands on his face. Harry thought it must be very precarious indeed, especially with his headache and dizziness, so he put his hands on Draco's hips, just to steady him, and not for any other reason.

"I love you," Draco said, holding eye contact. "I love you and only you. I've never loved Pansy, not the way I love you, and I never will." Draco moved his hands to the back of the chair, resting his forehead on Harry's. "I'll say anything you want me to and I'll believe every word of it. No matter what you call me, no matter how you demean me, no matter how much you love me and you need me, everything's true."

"I think it's all been said," Harry replied quietly. His tears were finally drying up, and he found he felt better; cleansed, almost. He wrapped his arms fully around Draco, pulling him onto his lap, and Draco immediately hugged him back, utterly compliant in his arms. "Do you still want to move to the bedroom?"

Draco's breath hitched. "If you'll allow me in your bed."

Harry leaned up for a brief kiss, just enough to make sure he still could. Draco sighed quietly, moving his hands to the back of Harry's neck. Harry broke away, and Draco whimpered. "I will," Harry said. "I won't have sex with you, I won't touch you like that at all, I can't, not if it might be Pansy you're thinking about."

"Harry, I—"

"Shut up," he interrupted. "And I won't have you touch me, not until I can trust you again. Don't ask me how far I'm willing to go; I don't know where the line is, and I imagine I won't until we get there.

"Now come on now, let's go." He walked Draco to the bedroom and lay him down carefully before starting a fire, keeping the flame low but warm.

"Ohh, that's brilliant," Draco sighed. "Undress me, would you? I haven't got the strength to do it myself." He paused. "Or is that over the line? Should I not have asked?"

Harry didn't quite know how to answer. He knew Draco hadn't meant it sexually, but the fact was that it was an extremely intimate thing to do, and he wasn't sure if he could. Would Draco be thinking of Pansy's hands, lifting his shirt off, sliding his pants down?

"Never mind, I'll do it myself." Draco sat up and immediately started swaying. He still made an attempt at his shirt, but Harry pushed him back down.

"Stop, you're going to make yourself worse," Harry said. "Just lie back and let me, okay?"

"Mm, thank you," Draco said. Once undressed—or at least mostly; Harry had left his boxers on—he climbed under the covers and asked again for a warm compress.

"I don't think we've got one," Harry said. "I suppose I could go to the infirmary and fetch one, but—"

"No, no, that's entirely unnecessary. Get ready to join me, and I'll show you." Harry undressed and joined Draco under the covers, feeling almost as nervous as the first time they got in bed together. What was he expected to do? How much anger was reasonable? Over the course of their conversation it had truly sunk in that Draco had been blindingly drunk, and on some sort of homemade aphrodisiac potion. But he had known the effects, hadn't he? Whether or not he had planned on directing his attentions at Harry, it was Pansy he had turned to.

"Give me your hand," Draco said. Feeling a big nervous, Harry did. Draco put the tip of his wand in the middle of his palm and said, "_Calorium_." Harry's hand started to tingle and grow warm. "Now put your hand on my forehead before the spell wears off," Draco said, setting his wand back down. "It's a short lasting spell; not terribly good for you, but not bad enough that it can't be used occasionally."

"You could've told me that before you cast it," Harry grumbled, but he experimentally rested his hand on Draco's forehead. He didn't know what reaction to expect, but so far he felt fine.

Draco sighed contentedly. "Don't worry, it won't last for more than five or ten minutes, and that's hardly enough for permanent damage. You might just be tingly for a while."

Harry slowly wrapped himself around Draco, testing the water. Was scooting next to him okay? How about draping a leg over his? Where was the point that he could not pass, whether out of pride or anger? But yes, this seemed to be fine. He continued gently stroking his forehead and temples, once ghosting over his closed eyes, which earned him another sigh. He felt the spell wear off, and though it had been more like a half-hour, his hand seemed fine.

"Don't get up, alright?" Draco said. "I still can't believe you've forgiven me, and I wager I'll forget if you're out of my sight for more than a second or two.'

"Your eyes are closed, Dray," Harry said with a bit of a smile.

Draco scowled. "I can _feel_ you, you know. You're warm and soft and muscled and a bit hairy and very strong, and I won't have you leave my side. It's your fault I'm in this predicament; if you hadn't hit me with a Bludger, I'd be fine."

"Yeah, but I'd still hate you, and wouldn't have the slightest bit of guilt to ease it," Harry said. He kissed Draco's chest; that was all right, too. It made his stomach clench, but that was par for the course with kissing Draco. "You can't say you didn't deserve it."

"Mm, true," he said. "Harry, what do you suppose bed rest means?"

Harry froze. It was obvious what Draco was getting at, and Harry still hadn't arrived at an answer. What if all he could see was Draco on top of someone else, snogging her, touching her? What if that was all Draco could see? And did Draco really deserve anything so good as sex after what he had done?

"Harry," he drawled. "You didn't answer my question."

Even after he had warned Draco he wasn't willing to do anything sexual, he was still pushing for it. Harry couldn't tell if that was a good sign, that Draco truly wanted him, or just his general pretentiousness and assumption that he always got what he wanted. "I suppose a bit of fooling around would be alright," Harry said hesitantly.

"Then kiss me, would you? I'm not keen on moving." Harry slid onto his body, taking a moment to savor the situation, to anchor himself in the present, and not in last night. This was okay, it was what they always did, and if Pansy had been in Harry's position last night, well, he'd just have to get past that. And besides, it felt so good to be this close to him, to be able to feel Draco's heart beating against his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing, the inseparable closeness of their bodies. "Harry, this is divine, but you're not kissing me."

Harry remedied the situation. And once he did, his reservations seemed silly. Draco tasted delicious, like pumpkin juice and vanilla and the indefinable taste that was him, and the little moans and whimpers he gave were for Harry and Harry alone; he certainly hadn't been making such noises last night. Harry trailed kisses down his neck, once again renewing the mark on his collarbone.

"You've got quite a thing for that spot, haven't you?" Draco said, though he sounded pleased.

"It seems rather urgent that I mark you as mine," Harry said, moving back up to his lips. "I won't have anybody thinking anything else."

Draco hummed. "Good." Harry kissed him again, thoroughly exploring his mouth, taking his time. Draco's hands rested lightly on his hips, and he could feel Draco's growing erection pressing against him.

"I think that's enough," Harry said gently, giving him one last chaste kiss before rolling off of him.

Draco whimpered. "Please don't stop," he said, turning to face Harry, trying to capture his lips again.

Harry put a hand on his chest, stopping him. "Not tonight, okay? I told you I couldn't, don't push me."

Draco sighed. He curled himself around Harry, back in their customary position. "Any word on how long this sex embargo will last?"

"Don't ask me that, or call it that," Harry said uncomfortably. "I don't know. I won't let you blame me for it, either."

"If you're concerned about me picturing Pansy, I assure you that is not the case," Draco said. "And if you still can't get the image out of your head, you could always top. She could hardly do that, now could she?"

While Harry's cock seemed to want this very much, he remained stern. "Not tonight." And, the more Harry thought about it, the more upset he got at Draco pushing him. "Draco, I'm serious, not another word. I told you what I was okay with and what I wasn't as best I could, and I told you I'd need to stop, and you're not allowed to get upset with me, or beg me, or try to tease it out of me. If you can't respect my wishes, I'll transfigure the couch into a bed and have you sleep there for the night."

"No," Draco said, almost desperately. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. Please don't make me go. Please, Harry."

"Don't say it like that," Harry said, shifting awkwardly. "Just let it go, okay?"

Draco kissed his neck this time, just below his ear, and Harry let out a sharp breath. "Consider it never spoken of." He kissed the hollow between Harry's collarbones, and Harry gasped.

"Stop that," he said, dragging Draco's lips back to his, kissing him with everything he had.

"You didn't think I'd be able to fall asleep this early, did you?" Draco asked when they broke apart. "I just needed the dark, and to lie down. I've got to do _something_ to entertain myself."

Harry picked up his wand. "_Accio _Nicholas Skyes books."

"Uh, Harry, I wouldn't—"

He was interrupted by the arrival of at least fifteen or twenty books, all fighting to get through the doorway first. They dropped onto Harry's lap, and he stared at them.

"Nicholas Skyes was quite prolific," Draco said. "He wrote poetry, sermons, novels, plays. You really need to be more specific with your summoning charms."

"Pick one," Harry said. "Since they're all here."

Draco looked through the pile. "Here," he said, handing him a book titled _The Secrete Life of Finnegan Montague_. "You can put the rest away." Harry was less clever with his dismissing charms, and he heard at least one book thump to the floor rather than sliding into the bookcase. Draco winced. "Be more careful, would you? These are hundreds of years old."

"Then don't have me do your spells for you," Harry said. He summoned a candle in from the other room and began to read. "_On the fourth of August in the year of Our Lord 1554, a woman who was by all accounts quite average gave birth to a great hero, though she did not know it at the time…_"


	31. Chapter 31: Sneakers in the Air

**A/N:** Well, for the most part, you guys still seem with me. That's good! Much better than I thought. Not a single flame.

I haven't got anything particular to say about this chapter; it's a chapter, you'll see. I could have sworn I had something to tell y'all, but I can't remember anymore, so I suppose it's not that important, or it'll show up in an A/N somewhere down the line.

OH! Right! I'm taking nominations for who should be Head Girl for Gryffindor. I know the obvious choice is Hermione, but first, it would have needed to be mentioned before now, and that ship has sailed, and secondly, I don't think with all the extra classes she's taking McGonagall would allow her even more responsibility. Ginny Weasley was suggested to me by my cousin, seeing as she is a seventh year, but again, I think I would have needed to mention that already, especially when she cursed Draco. Right now I'm going with Parvati, but if anyone has a better idea, I'd love to hear it! Also keep in mind that, as far as I can tell, this is for a single scene, and will probably only get a one-liner, so it doesn't matter _that_ much, but still.

**Chapter Thirty-One:**

_**Sneakers in the air.**_

Harry and Draco had breakfast in bed. Draco claimed his head hurt too much to stand the Great Hall, and when Harry pointed out his prejudice against food in bed, Draco had started throwing pillows at him. But the house elves brought them a delicious meal, and they even made it to Transfiguration on time without having to run. Ron and Hermione didn't acknowledge their presence, but Neville said hello, and Harry thought if Ron and Hermione had really wanted to ignore them, they wouldn't have sat one bench over. They left the classroom together, and Harry noticed something was wrong almost immediately.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. "You look pale."

Draco frowned at him. "I always look pale, Potter, don't be an idiot."

"Draco, I'm serious, you don't look well. Are you sure you don't need to go back to Madame Pomfrey?"

"I'm fine," he insisted. But then his hand went to his head, his eyes closed and suddenly he was sitting on the stairs. Harry sat down next to him immediately, even though Draco was trying to wave him off. "I'm _fine,_" he insisted. "I've just got to sit for a minute."

"Oh yes, just fine, needing to take a break in the middle of the stairs is _entirely normal_," Harry replied, torn between anger at his arrogance and worry. "Come on, Dray, I'm taking you to the infirmary."

"No you're not," Hermione said, startling both Harry and Draco; she had remained steadfastly silent towards the two boys, and this was the first time she had spoken directly to them. "Harry, you've missed enough class as it is. I'll take him."

"I don't _need_ to—"

"No," Harry interrupted. "I told Madame Pomfrey I'd take care of him, I should be the one—"

"Harry, shut up, you're going to be late for Charms," Hermione said, pulling a quill out of her bag and transfiguring it into a cane, which she handed to Draco. "Come on."

Draco rolled his eyes but did as she said, and Harry thought his lack of argument was enough of a reason for him to be seen again even if he hadn't nearly fainted on the stairs. Harry watched them nervously before Ron, still without actually talking to him, tugged on his robes and got him moving towards Charms again.

Charms was more like a Defense Against the Dark Arts class; they were paired up and told to duel using only what the classroom provided them with, and nothing more. Harry and Ron ended up paired together, which was more than a little tense. After an assault consisting of every quill in the room that Harry barely managed to deflect, Harry glanced around the room, looking for the largest thing he could throw at Ron. Generally the students were sticking to smaller projectiles—quills, books, an occasional chair or two—but Harry could no longer stand the look of superiority on Ron's face, nor the utter silence between them. Almost randomly he glanced up, and grinned. A large, lovely chandelier hung from the ceiling, and Harry set about dismounting it.

"Uh, Harry," Ron said when he realized his intention. "I don't think—"

"You don't, do you?" Harry asked, unscrewing the final screw. It took nearly all his concentration to keep control of such a heavy weight, but he managed to grunt out, "I figured, if you were thinking, you'd be speaking to me by now." He swept his wand down, and if it weren't for Flitwick intervening, it would have crashed to the floor just in front of Ron. Harry had already sent one person to the infirmary this week, and he wasn't keen on actually hurting his friend, regardless of the state of their friendship.

"_Potter!_" Flitwick yelled, taking control of the chandelier and reaffixing it to the ceiling. "I said classroom _items_, not the castle itself!"

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, dodging a book Ron sent hurling his way.

"And why do you think I'd be speaking to you, exactly?" Ron asked, ducking as a glass paperweight flew over his head.

"Seeing as I haven't done anything," Harry replied, attempting to give Ron a chokehold with his book bag.

Ron had to physically wrestle the bag off. "You put Malfoy in the hospital," he said and, in a stroke of brilliance, charmed Harry's sneakers to float a foot off the ground. Harry kept his balance for a split second before crashing to the floor, feet still hanging in the air.

"By accident!" Harry yelled. He gathered a whirling tornado of parchment and sent it at Ron, still on the floor, unable to figure out how to disenchant his shoes. As Ron fought off the paper, Harry realized he could just take them off, and soon stood in his stocking feet, shoes hovering just in front of him. "After he cheated on me!"

"Could've—responsibly—talked through it, not—_killing_—" Ron said angrily. The swirling papers had surrounded him, and he had yet to fight his way out.

"We did talk, yesterday," Harry said, keeping his wand at the ready but not willing to Charm Ron when he had yet to recover. "In the hospital wing, and in bed. Talking, in bed, I mean, not anything else," Harry quickly clarified. "I imagine we've got some more to work out, but—" He suddenly jumped out of the way as his desk made a beeline for him. Ron himself still couldn't be seen, but his wand was sticking out of the parchment storm, and he managed to gain control of the furniture.

"Shouldn't you be mad at Draco?" Harry asked, again having to perform some fancy footwork to avoid being squashed against the wall. "Seeing as he was the one all over Pansy?" Then he dropped, letting the table slide over him. "Goddammit Ron! _Stupefy!_" The table finally stilled, and Harry climbed out from under it.

"I'm not bloody speaking to him!" Ron yelled. He jerked his wand at the papers, and they finally dropped in a pile at his feet. He was staring at Harry, somewhere between angry and something else Harry wasn't sure of. "What else do you want me to do? Hex him? Short sheet his bed? Knock a Bludger into his head?"

Harry flushed. "I—I dunno," he said. "Maybe let me talk to you about it, or something."

Ron glanced around them. Their classmates were occupied with their own duels, and it seemed a safe enough place. "Alright, go on. What have you got to say, then?"

Harry bit his lip and looked at the ground. His shoes were still floating in the air. "I dunno, you'd think me daft," he said, absentmindedly attempting to push his shoe back to the ground with his foot.

"Just come out with it, would you?" Ron snapped. "_Stillabunta_."

Harry's shoes dropped, and he busied himself with putting them on, looking at his feet rather than his friend. "Well last night—I mean, not last night, but before that, the night it happened, he—well, I mean, I—it was the first time—"

"The first time what?" Ron asked. "You've been cheated on? I know that."

"No, it's not that," Harry said, staying on the floor, keeping his eyes down. "I mean, it is, but it isn't."

"Harry, stop saying 'I mean' and tell me what you mean," Ron said firmly.

Harry glanced around. Nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to him. "I, er, stayed up half the night, and—"

"I'm impressed you got any sleep at all," Ron said. "Er, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt, go on."

"I just, I hadn't cried over a boy before, alright?" Harry burst out. "Or a girl."

There was a moment of silence. "That's it?" Ron asked. "Blimey, Harry, I would've thought you'd still be bawling. There's a time for tears, even for guys, and getting cheated on is definitely on the list of acceptable reasons."

Harry looked up at Ron. He had crossed the classroom so they were standing next to each other—or would be, if Harry wasn't still sitting on the floor. "I thought, I dunno, I should've punched something, or thrown something, or—"

"Knocked a Bludger into his head?" Ron asked helpfully. "I think you've got that part covered, mate."

Harry flushed again. "Yeah, suppose so."

"Alright, class, that's time," Flitwick called. "If anyone wishes to earn extra credit, they may stay and help put the room to rights."

Ron offered a hand, and helped Harry up. "Hospital wing, then?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Lemme just get my—uh—things…" He looked around the classroom, fully absorbing the situation. He thought he saw his Charms book on top of a bookcase—it was noticeably his due to the large pumpkin juice stain on the cover, but that was the only thing Harry could readily identify as his. "_Accio_ Harry Potter's things that he brought to Charms class!" Harry said.

"Blimey, that was specific," Ron said, watching as Harry's things zoomed to form a pile at his feet.

"Er, yeah, had an incident with an unspecific charm the other day," Harry said, shoving his things into his bag. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Some of us enchanted our things to the floor, like Flitwick told us to at the beginning of class," Ron said as they walked out of the room.

"Oh," Harry said stupidly. "Well then. That would have been a good idea, now wouldn't it?"

"Imagine so." They walked in silence, fighting their way through the crowd streaming towards the Great Hall before eventually reaching the Hospital Tower. "So you've forgiven him, then?" Ron asked as they started up the stairs.

"For the most part," Harry replied, nervously adjusting his book bag. "I mean, not entirely, but he has this way of—of _being there_, and I can't say no to him."

"Like, being there for you?" Ron asked. "Or just existing?"

Harry flushed. "Er, existing. It sounds daft, I know, and I know I should hate him and never speak to him again, but—"

"Harry, really, you don't need to explain." They stood outside the door to the infirmary, Ron shuffling his feet. "I can't think of a thing Hermione could do that'd make me stop loving her. Mind you, we've been best friends for seven years, and she was never once my arch nemesis, at least not for more than a couple months, but I get it."

Harry smiled. 'Thanks, Ron."

"Of course, I can't have Hermione see me talking to you," Ron said hurriedly. "She'd kill me."

Harry grinned. "You never said a word."

"And you groveled for my attention the whole time. Come on, then," Ron said, opening the door and leading Harry inside.

Hermione was standing outside of a drawn curtain, and if Harry hadn't known her better, he would have thought she looked angry. But the way her brow was drawn together, and how she was continually running her fingers through her hair spoke to concern more than anger, and when she looked over at him, he saw in her eyes how right he was.

"Madame Pomfrey is still with him," she said. "He made it up here alright with the cane I made for him, but then she whisked up this privacy screen, and I don't know—"

"It's okay, 'Mione, everything's going to be fine," Ron said soothingly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"I know that," she snapped. "Besides, I couldn't care less. It's just that if something is seriously wrong, Harry might get in even more trouble, and I don't want that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks for considering my feelings," he said, then tried to open a corner of the curtain. It was enchanted closed, which he should have figured. "Madame Pomfrey?" he asked. "It's Harry. Can I come in? Or can you tell me if he's going to be okay or not?" He heard something muttered, and added, "Sorry, I didn't catch that?"

"In a minute, Potter!" Madame Pomfrey yelled. "Can't you just keep your mouth shut for a single minute?"

Harry quickly backed away from the curtains. "I guess I'll be waiting here, then," he said to no one in particular; he hadn't forgotten that he and Ron weren't speaking as far as Hermione was concerned, or that he and Hermione actually weren't. "If there was anybody standing near me, they could go to lunch without me."

"Harry, don't be daft," Hermione snapped, swatting his arm. "We're going to wait with you."

"Oh, good," Ron said with a sigh of relief. "Because Harry and I already made up on the way here, and—and you didn't mean we were speaking to him yet, did you?"

"No, I did not!" Hermione said, this time swatting Ron. "But, I suppose, if you've already done the damage, we might as well." She suddenly pulled Harry into a tight hug, surprising him into patting her back awkwardly.

"Um, Hermione?"

"Harry shut up!" Hermione said, stamping her foot. "We should have been with you from the beginning, both of us wanted to be, but we thought that if you thought we were mad at you, you might see what a colossal mistake you're making with Draco!"

Harry had to work to follow her logic. "'Mione, I love you, but it's between me and Draco, not—"

"_No_!" she said, stamping her foot again. "You and me and Ron, we're all together, and if something happens to one of us, it happens to all of us. Haven't you figured that out my now?"

Harry was baffled. "Er, that's very sweet, but when it comes to things in the bedroom—"

She finally pulled away from him, scowling. "You _know_ that's not what I meant."

"Yeah, but that's what this is, sort of," Harry said. "I mean, just not my bed. Er, well, it was on my couch, but not—"

"I've got it, you can stop babbling," she said. "Anyway, it is between all of us, so you better get used to it. You've gotten your whack at Draco—quite literally, actually—and, once he's recovered from yours, you'll have to let me and Ron have a go at him. With _words_, Harry, don't give me that look."

Harry agreed, mostly to get Hermione to stop talking. They waited in silence, trying to listen for anything from behind the screen, but all was silent. And then, after what seemed like years but the clock said was just two minutes, Madame Pomfrey came out, quickly closing the curtain shut behind her.

"He's going to be fine, Potter, I told you that last night," she said. "I also said bed rest; I take it that was not the case?"

"Er, couch rest?" Harry said. "But he was lying down all day, and I read him the chapters for class, though he did write his own essays, but—"

"You can stop there, that's what Malfoy said. Sometimes these things just take longer to heal," she said. "Have either of you got any classes this afternoon?"

"I haven't, but Draco's got Herbology."

"I'll owl Professor Sprout, then. Another day of bed rest. And if he doesn't look significantly better, bring him back in the morning. And not just sort of passable, but genuinely well; color in the cheeks and everything."

"Not sure he's ever got pink cheeks," Ron said under his breath.

Madame Pomfrey turned to him. "Pink cheeks, Weasley. You can keep an eye on that yourself." Ron blushed, and she added, "Though I don't suppose a Malfoy will ever get _that_ red. But you're free to go." She waved her wand and the curtains disappeared, revealing nothing more than Draco lying on a bed with a compress on the side of his head. "Potter, when that compress goes cold, just say—"

"_Calorium_, I know."

Madame Pomfrey's eyebrows shot up. "Who on earth taught you that spell? It's highly dangerous! If you've been going around using it, thank heavens you haven't exploded the entire castle by now!" Harry shot a furious glance at Draco, who had the decency to look chagrined. Her eyebrows climbed even further. "Did _Malfoy_ tell you to use it to keep his head warm? What did he have you charm? Whatever it is should be confiscated immediately, lest there be any residual effects."

Not meeting Madame Pomfrey's eyes, Harry held out his right hand. She looked at it in confusion for a moment and then burst into fury. "He enchanted your _hand?_ Twenty points from Slytherin, and ten from Gryffindor for letting him do that! Potter, sit," she said, pushing him onto the gurney next to Draco's, "and _wait_. Do _not _move your hand."

"I've been using it just fine all day," Harry mumbled.

"You never know when it could go off! That's the problem with that charm!" She bustled away, muttering under her breath the whole time, and Harry turned to Draco.

"You could have exploded me," he said.

Draco squirmed. "Well, you hit me with a Bludger," he said. "And I was tired, and my head hurt, and I couldn't think of another spell."

"You could have _exploded me_," Harry repeated. "_Exploded._"

"Probably not," Draco said quietly. "Almost certainly not. It only happens every now and then, and only if the wizard casting the spell isn't at their best."

"You mean like when they've taken a _Bludger to the head?_" Harry asked angrily.

"Er, well, maybe." Draco trailed off. "But you haven't exploded so really, I don't see the point in even having this conversation."

"Drink this," Madame Pomfrey said, shoving a cup into Harry's hand. "It's going to be cold. Don't complain. And make sure to finish the whole thing." It was like ice, or something even colder than ice, flowing through his veins, completely filling him until he was shivering uncontrollably. "Wrap yourself in this," she said, handing him a blanket. "Stay here until you've stopped shaking—fifteen minutes or so—then you can both go. Oh, and Potter, the proper spell to use to heat up the compress is _Calescio_. Tap the compress twice when you say it."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, wrapping the blanket around himself. It made virtually no difference. As soon as she was out of earshot he turned to Draco again. "You are going to pay for this," he said through chattering teeth.

"And for the Parkinson incident," Hermione said.

"I see you're speaking to me again," Draco drawled haughtily.

"Through no choice of my own, I assure you," she said. "Harry's our friend, and we're not going to abandon him to you. See what happens when we do?" She gestured at Harry. "So yes, Ron and I speaking to you, but you will not be pleased to hear the things we have to say."

Hermione didn't stop talking for the entire twenty-seven minutes it took Harry to stop shaking. Partway through Ron got bored and sat next to Harry, talking about how changed Neville seemed, how light and happy he was, and how he hadn't made a single mistake all through Transfigurations. Harry agreed it was truly remarkable and told him the story of how Neville and Aurora had gotten together, perhaps giving himself a bigger role than he deserved.

"Looks like you've stopped shivering," Ron said when Harry had finished.

"Oh, yeah, I suppose I have," Harry said, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders and inspecting his hands and arms for any signs of tremors. "Brilliant. Draco, ready to go?"

"Never been readier," he said through clenched teeth.

"And one more thing—" Hermione started, but Ron interrupted her.

"Haven't you got your lesson with McGonagall now?" Ron asked.

Hermione glanced at the clock and gasped. "You're right! I've got to run, I'll see you at dinner," she said, all anger forgotten at the potential catastrophe of being late.

"So, Ron, what d'you think?" Harry said, standing up and stretching out any last shakes. "Come study with us?"

"Absolutely not, wouldn't dream of it," Ron replied. "But you, Malfoy, have quite the chess game coming to you."

Draco stood shakily, leaning heavily on the cane, holding the compress with his other hand. "I'm injured," he said as they left. "It's not fair to play me in this state."

"Harry's hit you with a Bludger, Hermione spent a half hour lecturing you—and count yourself very lucky she had class to stop her—and now it's my turn," Ron said. "Wizard chess. Now."

Draco sighed dramatically and looked to Harry. "Must I?"

"You'll do whatever Ron says, and you'll do it without complaint," Harry said. "You deserve it."

Draco sighed again. "Fine. But I won't like it."

"I think that's the point," Ron replied. They walked the rest of the way in silence, Harry only remembering that he owed the sphinx an explanation when they reached the portrait.

"Harry James Potter, Ron Bilius Weasley and Draconius Malfoy," Harry said. "And I'm sorry about sticking you closed the other night, it was just—"

"_Rude_," the cat interrupted. "It was rude, that's what it was. And after I so kindly let in Draconius Malfoy's friends, despite how rude _they _were. And _loud_. Even if I hadn't been slammed open in the middle of the night and then glued shut, I wouldn't have been able to sleep. I warned you, Harry James Potter, I said no loud parties, and yet, your first night here, instantaneous chaos."

"Those people are _not_ my friends," Draco said firmly. "Not anymore. It was a mistake, inviting them in, one that won't happen again."

"And then ignoring me all day yesterday," the sphinx continued. "I expected an apology far before this, Draconius Malfoy and Harry James Potter. But did I say anything yesterday? I did not. I let you come and go as you please—you as well, Ron Bilius Weasley, and your friend, Hermione Jean Granger—not to mention the house elves apparating past me as if they own the place. I suppose you expect I'm going to let you in, do you?"

Harry shifted nervously. "Um, yes, please?"

The sphinx eyed him. "I will, then, but consider this your last warning."

Harry studied as Ron and Draco played chess, Draco reclining elegantly on the couch, requiring Ron to sit very awkwardly in order to reach the board. Harry glanced up only when there was a particularly loud death, and wasn't surprised at all to hear Ron's crow of victory. If Draco was ever to beat him, which was a pretty big if, it would not be while his head was injured. Harry got his History of Magic essay out of the way, decided Charms had been practice enough for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and waited for the current chess game to end before pressuring Draco into helping him with potions. It didn't take long; he lost quickly, humiliatingly so, and was about to call for yet another rematch when Harry reminded him of their potions homework.

"Sod it," Draco said. "Another game of chess. We'll do potions after dinner; then Granger can come, and I'll only need to teach the class once."

Beneath all the insults, Harry thought that a rather sweet sentiment, and settled in to watch Ron and Draco duke it out. Ron was pulling no stops, systematically destroying every defense, every offense and every piece Draco sent his way. Draco was steadily getting angrier and angrier, and the third time he lost, he threw the compress at Ron.

"Hey!" Harry yelled. "No throwing things!" Ron whipped the compress back at Draco. "Neither of you! Really, this should be obvious."

"It's cold now," Draco said, throwing it to Harry.

"I don't see why you can't fix it yourself," Harry said, though he took out his wand and performed the spell Madame Pomfrey had taught him. The compress was pleasantly warm again, and he tossed it back to Draco.

"I'm playing chess," he replied, holding it back against his head. He closed his eyes and lay down completely for a moment before propping himself back up. "Alright, Weasley, again."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "This is getting a bit out of hand for bed rest," he said. "Don't you think a break might be called for? Ron can get some homework done, and I'll read you more of that book?"

"God, Harry, you can be worse than Hermione," Ron said. "Pawn to King three."

"The Weasel has a point," Draco said. "Pawn to King three."

"I have a better one," Harry said. "Come on, take a break, just until dinner."

Draco frowned at him. "But then we've got potions."

"And then chess."

Draco's frown deepened. "But I've got to get to bed early."

"Come on Harry, one more game?" Ron asked.

Harry groaned. "Fine, whatever. But if I have to drag you back to the infirmary tomorrow, Draco, there's going to be hell to pay. And Ron, I imagine Hermione will be entirely _thrilled_ when she hears you haven't gotten any homework done at all."

Ron looked guiltily at his book bag. "I suppose one essay couldn't hurt…"

Draco lay down again, stretching his long legs. "I still object to this, Harry."

"Duly noted," he replied. "Now do you want me to read to you?"

"Think I'd fancy a nap," Draco sighed, curling up on the couch. "Wake me for dinner, alright?"

"Think you can manage the Great Hall?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded, already mostly asleep. "As long as I can have a nap first."

Harry gently took his foot, the only part of his body he could reach, and Draco sighed again. "Sleep well, then." Draco made an affirmative noise, and was gone.

Hermione arrived an hour or two later, considerably calmer than she had been in the infirmary. She sat next to Ron, reading his essay over his shoulder.

"Don't do that, it makes me nervous," Ron muttered, rearranging the paper so she couldn't see it.

"I was just helping," Hermione said softly, noting the sleeping Draco. She glanced over at Harry, and smiled widely. "I see you're finally reading _Hogwarts, A History_. Fascinating, isn't it?"

"Er, yeah, definitely," Harry said. He had mostly picked it up because it had been there, and he hadn't felt bothered to go over to the bookcases. He glanced at the clock. "Dinner, then?"

"I'm starved," Ron said, closing his book emphatically.

"As am I," Hermione replied. "But shouldn't we let Draco sleep? Surely he needs all the rest he can get."

"He said we can wake him," Harry said, and was about to when Carus flew into the room, doing it for him. He landed lightly on Draco's shoulder, who grumbled something, trying to bat the bird away. Carus nipped his finger, a bit more harshly than normal, and Draco groaned, opening his eyes.

"Get off me, would you?" he mumbled, pushing the bird away so he could sit up. Carus landed on the table with an indignant squawk and pointedly holding his leg out to Harry. "You don't have to sulk," Draco said, wiping sleep from his eyes. "Come on, give it here." Carus looked at him, then hopped over and offered Draco his leg. "Good boy," Draco replied, untying the scroll.

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other. "Shall we meet you in the Great Hall?" Hermione asked.

"No, I imagine you've been reading about the trial in the news, might as well hear it from the source," Draco said. "Harry, be a dear and read this aloud, would you? I can't imagine what my father would think if he heard I gave Weasley and Granger first hand information."

"But it doesn't count if I do it?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't be fresh," Draco said, and Hermione had to elbow Ron rather hard to prevent him from laughing. "Just read it, would you? I'm hungry."

Harry cleared his throat, and read the letter.

_My dearest Draco,_

_The trial proceeds as expected. Your father talked for many hours with hardly an interruption, a sign that he knows the courts well if nothing else. The only times he was outright questioned were regarding Harry's testimony about the power hierarchy. It was very hard for him, but your father answered every question truthfully, no matter how weak or incompetent it made him feel. You and I know how foolish those thoughts are, but I could see how it pained him._

_Your father expects to finish his testimony tomorrow. This evening he left off at the Easter before the Final Battle, just after Harry and his friends escaped the Manor. That was not an easy tale for him to tell, but he did it with the grace and poise he will always have._

_I offer—very hesitantly—Friday as a potential date for sentencing. If your father does finish his testimony tomorrow, and the Wizengamot doesn't take too long to debate, I believe that is the earliest possible date. Don't bother to tell your professors; I will owl them myself when the day is confirmed, and your Headmistress has already assured me that both you and Harry will be excused from class._

_On a different note, Draconius, it has come to my attention that you have already collected detention this year. Your family affairs are no excuse to run rampant throughout the halls. Mind yourself, and remember the whole world is watching the conduct of the Malfoy family._

_All my love,_

_Mum._

"Bloody hell, I forgot we had detention tonight," Harry said, putting the letter down. "D'you suppose it's been pushed back another day because you're still on bed rest?"

"We'll ask McGonagall at dinner," Draco said. "Let me just write Mother back and we can go." Harry looked over his shoulder as he penned the letter.

_Mother—_

_It is very good indeed to hear that Father is not too proud to tell the truth. I am sure it hurts him, but surely not nearly as much as going back to Azkaban. It would be wonderful if sentencing was as early as Friday, but perhaps a bit worrying; if the Wizengamot takes such a short time to decide, surely the news cannot be good, can it? _

_And as for the detention, let me assure you it is Harry's fault as much as it is mine, and he is serving his as well._ _It was merely a Quidditch game gone wrong, though, you needn't worry._

_Kisses,_

_Draco._

"Merely a Quidditch game?" Harry asked as Draco tied the letter to Carus' leg.

"She doesn't need to hear the rest," Draco said. "Not when she's got other things to worry about. If you feel the need to inform her of my indiscretions, I kindly ask you to wait until after the trial.

"Come now, I'm positively famished."


	32. Chapter 32: Sentencing

**A/N:** Okay, a few announcements today. First off, I have an Ashamed Thing to admit. It was very kindly pointed out to me by MakeupDiva88 that Draco's full name is, in fact, not Draconius but Draco Lucius. I am terribly ashamed to admit that I did not fact check myself on something so important as the MAIN CHARACTER'S NAME. Merlin's beard, how could I have let something so big slip by? The answer is even more ridiculous; somewhere, sometime, I don't remember, I read Draconius in a fanfiction and assumed it was canon. Just assumed, never bothered to check. I'm rather mortified. I've fixed it all with a quick Search And Replace, so everything you see from here on out is accurate. Feel free to point and laugh at me, I deserve it.

**Warning:** I know that Lucius' verdict/sentence isn't canon. I had already decided what I wanted it to be and, since the book itself doesn't mention anything, I had the idea cemented firmly in my mind for several weeks before I happened to read his canon sentence on the Harry Potter Wiki. I thought long and hard about whether or not to change it but, eventually, I decided I had planned too much for doing it my way and I was too happy with the results to change anything. Please don't be mad?

For those of who you have been waiting: tomorrow is sexy times! We'll be going the Google Docs route, but I promise everything will work perfectly, now that I know what I'm doing. Please note there will be tones of dom/sub and such so if that makes you squidgy, I recommend not reading it. I'll post all of this again tomorrow on the chapter itself, not to worry.

And with that, I think we're good to go! I'm a bit foggy in the head so I might be missing something, but I'm pretty sure I've covered it all! OH WAIT NO JUST KIDDING; you guys, only _six_ of you have to review in order to break 300 reviews. I am _awed_ at this. It would make my entire _life_ if this were to happen, you have no idea. I love you so much.

**Chapter Thirty-Two:**

_**Sentencing.**_

Dinner was a quiet affair. Draco insisted on sitting at the Slytherin table so they'd be left alone and, despite Ron and Hermione's obvious discomfort, they settled without much complaint. Draco was quieter than usual, rendering the conversation more pleasant than it often was these days, and the only stressful part of the meal was when McGonagall appeared behind them.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," she said with a frown. "I have been informed you once again require bed rest and nursing duties, so your detentions are, yet again, pushed down a night. Do not think this means you will be getting off any easier, or that Professor Slughorn and I will be any less hard on you." She dropped her voice. "Mr. Malfoy, your mother has informed me your father's sentencing is imminent. She and I have agreed that you are still allowed to go—you, too, Potter—but you still must return to the castle in time for detention. She assured me this will not be a problem; will it, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No, Professor," Draco said.

"Very good then. Carry on," she said, and swept away.

"Thank Merlin," Draco sighed quietly. "All this noise is wreaking havoc on my head. A quiet night of potions and chess is exactly what I need, not spending all night on my knees scrubbing at filthy cauldrons that haven't been used in a century."

The night proceeded the same way; Draco shifted one of the chairs so he could watch Harry, Ron and Hermione brewing their potions, continually scolding, correcting and interfering, only offering a single word of encouragement when Harry added his cat whiskers at just the right moment. Hermione was getting more and more flustered, but by the end she and Ron had a perfectly prepared solution, and couldn't complain. Ron, Hermione and Draco continued with homework, Harry relaxing and staring off into space. He was very pleased he had already finished his homework, and was enjoying doing nothing in particular very much.

Ron finished first and Draco stopped when he did, complaining of a headache, though apparently not one bad enough to exclude wizard chess. Harry watched the two duel with an amused eye, keeping careful watch on how Draco looked. He had no intention of bringing him back to the infirmary again, not when Madame Pomfrey was sure to blame Harry.

But still, it was very good to be back with his old friends again, and so much better that they were getting along with Draco, even if he was dulled by his headache. Hermione eventually finished the mountain of work she brought with her and joined Harry on the couch, leaning her head on his shoulder and taking his hand.

"It's been an interesting year, hasn't it?" she asked softly.

Harry sighed quietly. He kept his eyes on Draco, tracing the lines of his body. "Yeah," he said. "I never could manage to stay out of trouble."

"You'll be fine," she said. "You've got the three of us, haven't you?"

That was the first time Hermione—or anyone, for that matter—had included Draco in their collective, and Harry smiled. "Suppose I do."

Ron's queen came crashing down on Draco's king, and Draco leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Enough," he said. "I've got a horrid headache, and I've taken enough abuse on the chessboard today, never mind Granger's ramblings." He glanced at Harry, and shot straight up. "What is this? What are you two doing?"

Harry looked at Hermione and himself; she immediately moved away, flushing slightly, leaving Harry alone under Draco's glare. "Don't even think of equating this with what happened with Pansy," Harry said quickly. "Hermione and I are just friends. We were talking, that's all."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I can't tell if I should believe you or not, my head hurts too much." He slumped back. "Would you two just get out, then? I haven't got the energy to keep up appearances any longer."

"You haven't got to keep up appearances around us," Hermione said, though she and Ron did gather their things.

Draco waved a hand dismissively, eyes closed, compress resting lightly on his eyes. "Just go away, would you?"

"Feel better, Draco," Hermione said kindly as they left.

"That was a lot better than you deserve," Harry said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Draco sighed dramatically. "I assure you, Harry, there is nothing wrong with me beyond a crippling headache. Come now, I request a repeat of last night—lying in bed, snuggling, you reading to me. Without the fighting, of course."

And with that, a routine was born. Classes, lunch and dinner in the Great Hall, split between Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, but always at least the four of them, studying, chess, detention, and the rest of the evening spent reading in bed. Draco's detention with Slughorn wasn't so bad; while he had been instructed not to use magic, Slughorn had made a habit of looking away at just the right moments, and Draco usually made it back to their room by eight-thirty or nine. McGonagall was far more stringent, and the errands she had Harry running for her took him all over the castle, whether it was hand-delivering a note to a professor, scrubbing up a mess in the Great Hall, or tracking down a Crup that had escaped. But she was always fair, and never kept him a minute past ten, and so as long as he had gotten his homework done beforehand, there was plenty of time for him and Draco.

Each day came with an update from Narcissa as well—Lucius didn't finish testifying until late Thursday evening, and with the weekend looming, there was no chance of a verdict before Monday or Tuesday at the earliest. Draco insisted the longer they considered the case the better it was, but his complaints of having a headache and being weak from the Bludger attack were slowly replaced with the irritability and moodiness that had preceded the weekend with his father. Harry kept quiet as much as he could, only telling Draco off when he was being particularly impossible. Hermione followed suit; it was only Ron that Draco continually got into shouting matches with, but they were generally over the chessboard, and Draco seemed to come out of them feeling better, so Harry let it be.

Draco insisted Harry go to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione on Saturday, saying that he needed some alone time—which Harry was rather grateful for—but he absolutely insisted Harry remain by his side all day Sunday, leaving him alone only to go to detention. Harry was rather put off by these mood swings, but didn't want to risk a genuine argument, and put up with them for the time being, assuming the Wizengamot couldn't take _too_ long in deciding Lucius' sentence, and eventually things would go back to normal.

And then, Wednesday night at dinner, the fateful letter arrived.

_My dearest Draco,_

_The Wizengamot have arrived on a decision at long last. I will meet you and Harry at the gates of Hogsmeade at eight-thirty tomorrow morning; mind that you aren't late, I cannot wait for you. I've already owled your Headmistress, and she has excused you from your Thursday classes._

_Think of only the best of outcomes; negativity can only hold us back._

_All my love,_

_Mum._

Draco replied quickly and silently, sending Carus away with a bit of pumpkin spice cake for his troubles. Harry, Ron and Hermione were waiting for Draco to begin the conversation, not wanting to say the wrong thing, and in this way they spent the rest of dinner in near silence.

"I'd request the night alone," Draco said, finally speaking up only as they left the Great Hall.

Harry's stomach twisted painfully. "Shall I stay in Gryffindor Tower, then? I'm sure Hermione can conjure me—"

Draco stared at him. "What on earth are you babbling about? I didn't mean alone from you, Harry. Merlin's beard, could you be any dafter if you tried? I wish for you, and you alone; though I have grown used to Weasley and Granger, I don't care to look upon them this evening."

Hermione stepped on Ron's foot, preventing him from saying something nasty. "Of course, Draco, whatever you need." Then she surprised him completely by hugging him tightly. "Good luck," she whispered, pulling away.

Draco stared after her as she and Ron walked away. "I—would you please inform your friend I do not wish to be touched by anyone other than you?"

Harry suppressed a grin. "She was being nice to you, Draco, which you shouldn't take so lightly, not given how difficult you've been. Not that you don't have a reason to be," he added quickly.

Draco sniffed. "Come on, Potter. This is my first night without detention, and I'd like to make the best of it."

Despite Harry's assumption that meant he was in for a night of shagging, their night was surprisingly calm. Draco was too nervous to bother to be arduous, or to do much of anything, leaving Harry to direct their evening. They shared a long shower, mostly just slowly washing each other and then standing under the comforting jets of water, though Harry did make good use of their position, as well as his hands and mouth. The rest of the night was spent cuddled together in bed, a fire blazing brightly, dispelling any shadows, while Harry read from Nicholas Skyes. Partway through, Draco returned the favor Harry had given him in the shower, but both encounters were about love and comfort and relaxation far more than anything baser. It was the first time they had been together that way since the Pansy incident, and Harry found it came naturally, with no reservations. Harry made sure to set the alarm before they fell asleep.

They were woken up at the ungodly hour of six-thirty. Draco was in fine form; he demanded Harry take a shower, as he had failed to condition his hair the previous night, while he busied himself with getting dressed and setting out Harry's robes. Harry was wearing the same drab, grey robes as before, but Draco looked positively resplendent in Slytherin green robes edged with silver and embroidered with the Malfoy crest on the right breast pocket. His hair was sleeked back and Harry couldn't see a single thing out of place.

"Stop looking at me like that, Potter," Draco said. "You mustn't touch me, not when I've taken so long to get ready. It may only take you a moment or two to consider yourself presentable, but some of us are held to much higher standards."

Harry ignored him, cradling his head in his hands and kissing him gently. "You look wonderful," he said.

Draco huffed. "If only it were for a better occasion. Now stand still and let me take care of you." Harry didn't fuss as Draco smoothed his hair, holding it in place with a gel that smelled of coconut, fixed his tie and re-buttoned his vest, though he couldn't see anything wrong with them. "There," he said, though he didn't look pleased. "That's as good as you're going to get. One of these days I'm going to take you on a proper shopping trip, but we haven't got time today. Where did you even get those robes? They fit you well enough, but you look like a banker."

"The Room of Requirement," Harry said, fidgeting with them. Draco smacked his hands away.

"I arranged you correctly, don't touch anything." There was a knock on the door and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Breakfast from the house elves, I imagine," Harry said, opening the door.

Instead of a tray of food, Luna stood before him.

"Hello, Harry," she said pleasantly. "I've brought something for Draco, if that's okay."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Harry stammered, letting her in. "Draco!" he called. "Luna's here!"

Harry was fairly certainly he heard something in the other room smash. But he exited looking as perfect as ever, not a single hair out of place. "Luna, we're in quite a hurry," he said. "I haven't got time—"

"Here," she said, handing him something wrapped in blue tissue paper. "It's a bit of dried rosemary, from our garden. I know it's a common muggle herb, and perhaps you think it beneath you, but wizards have been growing it for centuries as a good luck charm."

Draco unwrapped the tissue paper, and the scent of rosemary filled the room. He stared at it for so long Harry had to fight to keep from answering for him, but eventually he spoke. "Why?"

"Why is it lucky?" Luna asked. "That's a rather interesting question. I suppose the origin—"

"No," Draco said, cutting her off. "Why did you give it to me?"

"Your father is receiving his sentence this morning," Luna said.

"I _know_ that," Draco snapped. "But why did you bother with it at all?"

"Why, because you're a friend, of course," she said, sounding surprised. "I'd hardly let you go off to the Ministry without something to keep you safe and bring you luck."

Harry thought Draco looked ready to punch her, and he stepped between the two. "Luna, that's very thoughtful, but we've really got to—"

"Thanks," Draco said, interrupting Harry. "Thank you, Luna."

Harry gaped at him. This was the first time Draco had called any of his friends by their first names, never mind _thanking _them.

"You're quite welcome," she said. "I'll be on my way, then. Goodbye Draco, Harry."

Draco hurriedly tucked the rosemary into his pocket before continuing to bustle about, trying to get everything ready, though Harry could neither tell what he was doing nor figure out how to help. A second knock came a few minutes later and this time it really was breakfast. Harry had to force Draco to eat, reminding him of when Draco forced him to eat before he went to the Ministry. Still, between the two of them, they only consumed not quite half of what the elves had brought for them before Draco declared it was time to go. He did a last minute check that they had everything—everything being their wands, and that they were still dressed—before taking Harry's hand and leaving their room.

The walk to Hogsmeade was tangibly quiet, interrupted only when Capry and Brian flew over. Neither had any post, but they accompanied the boys to the gate before flying away. When Draco didn't immediately see his mother he started to panic, but before Harry could even start to say something to calm him, Narcissa stepped out of the shadows. She was dressed much as Draco, wearing the same green-and-silver robes with the same crest. She was also wearing a vial as a pendant, and though the liquid was clear, Harry was nearly certain it contained Felix Felicis.

"Don't worry, Harry, it's to be worn as a charm only," Narcissa said, noting his stare. "We hardly need a second trial regarding the illegal use of potions."

"Mother," Draco sighed, letting go of Harry's hands and pulling her into a tight hug. She hugged him back, stroking his hair, whispering things Harry couldn't hear. Then Draco stepped away, straightened his robes, and resumed his place at Harry's side.

"I'm very glad you can join us, Harry," Narcissa said. "The more friendly faces, the better." She glanced at their entwined hands. "And I daresay my son could not survive this day without you."

Both boys flushed furiously. "I—it's nothing," Harry stammered. "I mean, of course it's something, but I'm happy to—"

"Hush, Harry, you've said nothing wrong. Now take my arm, and we shall be on our way."

The sickening sense of apparating lasted only a minute, and then they were standing in the lobby, walking towards the elevators before Harry had even had a chance to steady himself.

"Don't we need visitor's badges?" Harry asked nervously as they got into the closest elevator.

"Nonsense, Harry," Narcissa replied. "Not when you're with me." Harry watched as several witches walked towards their elevator, then turned away at the last minute. "Everybody knows," Narcissa said calmly. "Everybody knows, and yet nobody rides with us. Look, even the Ministry memos are avoiding our car."

It was true and, while disconcerting, it made for a short elevator ride. Narcissa led them through the dark hallways of the basement, arriving at Courtroom 10 quickly and efficiently. She turned to the boys.

"Draco, my love, whatever happens, we are always a family, and we always have each other." Draco nodded stiffly. "And Harry…" She reached out and brushed a hand down his cheek. For some reason he thought her fingers would be cold, but they were warm, and kind. "Thank you, Harry." Then she opened the door, head held high, and descended the stairs.

They didn't stop to find a place to sit in the stands; no, Narcissa led them straight down to the floor of the courtroom, settling herself on a bench Harry hadn't seen before, no doubt placed there especially for them. Lucius sat on an elevated platform, and Harry was relieved to see his wrists remained unbound. Kingsley sat where he had before, Gertrude Barker at his side, and did not look up from his paperwork. The courtroom was filled with whispering, and Draco's hold on Harry's hand tightened. Then, finally, a clock chimed loudly, and Kingsley stood.

"We are gathered here on the 30th of September to hear the Wizengamot's ruling on the case of Lucius Malfoy. The court recognizes Narcissa Malfoy, Draco Lucius Malfoy and Harry James Potter as family here on behalf of the defendant. After the verdict is read, if there is a sentence of imprisonment, they will have a half-hour to spend with the defendant before he is removed from this building. Gertrude Barker, do you have the Wizengamot's decision?"

Ms. Barker stood, and Harry saw she held an envelope in her right hand. Harry's stomach clenched. "I do."

"And can you testify to the authenticity of the writings?"

"I can."

"Very well. You may proceed."

Kingsley sat, leaving Ms. Barker standing alone. "I hold in my hands the verdict and potential sentencing of Lucius Malfoy," she stated. She opened the envelope agonizingly slowly and looked over its contents before speaking.

"Lucius Malfoy, you are hereby found guilty of the crime of being a Death Eater, and of supporting Lord Voldemort, and of carrying out his orders."

Draco's hand tightened further, and Harry glanced at him. If he hadn't known any better, he would have suspected someone had just told Draco the weather for the rest of the week. Narcissa looked just as impassive. Harry forced himself to face forward, striving to be as expressionless as those sitting next to him.

"You are sentenced to one year and one day in Azkaban prison." She set the envelope down. "If it had not been for your candor and for the testimony of people in this very room, your sentence would be much longer. Consider yourself lucky. Have you anything to say to the court before you are taken away?"

Lucius rose, managing to look elegant and impassive even under the circumstances, even from behind. "I thank the court for its generosity," he said evenly. "I will carry out my sentence with the grace and dignity befitting of a Malfoy."

"Duly noted. You will be taken to a visiting room, where you may see your family. Court adjourned." A guard stepped forward and took Lucius by the arm, leading him out a door on the side of the courtroom.

"Follow me, please." Harry looked up. A guard had materialized next to them as well, and Narcissa and Draco rose without another word. Harry sat, staring. How could they be so calm?

"Harry," Draco hissed. "Don't embarrass me. Get up."

Harry did, and they were led through the door after Lucius. Harry found himself in a surprisingly comfortable room; a fire was burning merrily in the fireplace, there were comfortable chairs, and even a bowl of fruit, which struck him as absurd. How could anybody eat under these circumstances? The two guards who brought them in stood on either side of the door, staring blankly ahead.

"My Lucius," Narcissa said, rushing to his side. He embraced her, and it was the first time Harry had seen him be anything approaching affectionate. "I can't believe—"

"Hush, my love," he said softly. "There is no reason to be upset. This is a far better outcome than I was expecting."

Draco still stood next to Harry, still holding his hand. "Aren't you going to go to him?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco shook his head sharply. "Father will call for me when he is ready."

Harry was entirely baffled by this, but he stayed silent. Lucius and Narcissa sat, his hands enfolding hers, and spoke quietly. Harry thought he was giving her instructions for the coming year, though once he said something that made her laugh; Harry couldn't begin to imagine what.

Then Lucius looked over to where Harry and Draco stood.

"My dragon," he sighed. "Come here, Draco."

Draco let go of Harry's hand and went to his father, sitting on his other side. He, too, was pulled into a hug, before Lucius spoke to him, again words Harry couldn't hear. Harry himself felt very awkward indeed; this was an occasion for families, and he had no business being here. He ought to have left quietly before they even entered the room and waited outside Courtroom 10, but of course now it was too late. Instead he watched as Lucius said goodbye, even going so far as to kiss Draco's forehead. Then, when Harry thought it must be approaching a half hour, Lucius turned to him.

"Potter," he said, voice devoid of emotion. "Would you consent to a conversation?"

Harry stood dumbly. Lucius was asking _his_ permission to speak? "I—uh, yeah, of course," he stammered, going over to the couch. He had a much better view now, and saw that Lucius had Narcissa's hand in one hand, and Draco's in the other. He didn't look nearly as haggard as the other day; he was clean-shaven, and in the warm light of the fire, he looked almost healthy.

"Harry Potter," he said quietly. "My reduced sentence is largely due to your testimony. I hardly found it flattering, but if you had not spoken the truth, I doubt it would have been heard." Harry thought there might have been a thank you hidden in those words, but surely that was ridiculous. "I could only guess as to what possessed you to take the stand—though perhaps my son had a part in that. Regardless, I thank you."

Harry had to force himself to speak. "Y—you're welcome," he stammered.

"Those words do not come easily, and I would hope you do not take them lightly," Lucius said. Narcissa whispered something in his ear, and he grimaced. "And—you and my son—that business—it is your own, and I shall not intervene. Nor do I wish to hear of it any further."

Harry supposed that was as close as he would get to a blessing. "Thank you, sir."

One of the guards approached them. "It's time."

Lucius stood, Narcissa and Draco rising with him. Narcissa had started to cry, silent tears falling down her face. Lucius let go of her hand and wiped them away.

"Do not be sad, my love," he whispered. "I am always with you." He kissed her, and Harry looked away. "Draco—my dragon, be strong. I will be with you soon." Then the guard took him by the arm and led him out a door Harry hadn't noticed. The other guard approached them and guided them out of the room and through a series of hallways until they were suddenly back in front of the elevators.

"Thank you," Narcissa said, wiping the last of her tears away.

"My pleasure, ma'am," he said, and disappeared.

They remained quiet in the elevator, though Draco took his hand again, and didn't speak again until they were back in Hogsmeade.

"Draco, I promised I would send you back to Hogwarts as soon as possible," Narcissa said. "So I am afraid I must leave you now."

Draco nodded. "Thank you for the escort. I could have travelled on my own."

"Not today, my love." She hugged him once again, kissing his forehead before letting him go. "Harry—" Narcissa stopped for a moment. "There is nothing I could say beyond what has already been spoken, so I shall remain silent." Harry assumed that was the end of that, but then he found himself being pulled into a hug, and, feeling very awkward, he hugged her back. Then she pulled away. "Goodbye, boys. Owl me often. And Harry, do send your new owl, would you? I would love to see him."

"Of course," Harry replied, wondering how she could be speaking of owls at a time like this.

"And try to stay out of trouble. I know it's a useless sentiment falling on deaf ears, but do try, for me."

"I always do," Draco said.

Narcissa smiled at him. "Somehow I doubt that." And with that, she disapparated.

Harry turned to Draco. "Do you need—?"

"I'm fine," Draco said tightly. "Come, we have no business lingering here."

Draco remained quiet but impassive through the walk back to Hogwarts, then to their dorm, while they changed into regular clothes, and as they sat on the couch, though he did sit very close to Harry and wrapped a blanket around both of them, despite the warmth from the fire.

"Draco—"

"No," Draco said. "Don't say anything. I'll cry if you say anything, and I hate crying."

Harry took his hand, squeezing firmly. "It's alright," he said. "I'm here. You can cry all you want."

Draco shook his head, though Harry could see tears forming in his eyes. "Don't."

Harry brushed his cheek and hissed him gently, and that was all it took. Draco broke into great, heaving sobs, burying himself in Harry. Harry held him as best he could, stroking his back, saying whatever comforting thing came to mind, not complaining even when Draco's grip became painfully tight. The few times he tried to talk Harry shushed him, and Draco seemed happy to let it go. Eventually he quieted, though he didn't move, staying firmly in Harry's arms.

"What do you need?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco remained silent for a long time, so long Harry thought he wasn't going to answer. "Don't ever leave me," he said suddenly.

"I won't."

Draco leaned up for a kiss, capturing Harry's lips. Draco tasted of the saltiness of his tears, and Harry did his best to lick his lips clean. "I love you," Draco said quietly. "You haven't got to say—"

"I love you, too," Harry interrupted.

"And you're not going to leave?" Draco asked again.

"No," Harry said firmly.

Draco sighed shakily. "Alright then. I can live with that."


	33. Chapter 33: Hold Me Down, Make Me Scream

**A/N:** Alright, folks, it's sexy times!

**WARNING:** This chapter—or rather, the link at the end of this chapter—contains explicit sexual activities between two consenting, adult boys. It has more than a hint of a dom/sub relationship so if that's not your thing, just stop reading at this page. There aren't any important plot points in the sexy times part, it's pure smut, so you won't miss anything. I will have _detailed instructions_ on how to use the link to get to the second half at the end of this chapter; please read and follow _carefully_ before PMing me that the link isn't working.

Also, guys, on an unrelated note, I've finished mapping out the rest of the story, chapter by chapter (roughly speaking)! I'm so excited, I can't even begin to tell you. Of course, I also can't tell you because of spoilers, but still! Super excited.

And thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me over 300 reviews! You're all so incredible and special, I can't even believe it. I love you guys!

**Chapter Thirty-Three:**

_**Hold Me Down, Make Me Scream**_

Harry and Draco had a late lunch in their room, followed by an afternoon of reading on Harry's part and practicing potions on Draco's, and they made it down to the Great Hall for dinner. Draco seemed torn about sitting with the Slytherins who hated him or the crowded Gryffindor table, so they ended up sitting with Luna at her table, along with Ron, Hermione, Neville and Aurora. Draco remained silent throughout the meal, and the topic of the trial was carefully avoided, but Harry thought it a good sign that Draco was willing to leave the comfort of their room at all, let alone sit with other people. Out of all the people present, Ron was the only one who tried to actively engage Draco in conversation, and Harry was very pleased by that.

"Chess after dinner?" he asked.

Draco had been staring blankly at his food, but he looked up to address Ron. "I think I've lost enough today, thank you."

"You could win, you never know."

Draco's eyes sharpened. "Don't tease me, Weasley. I have enough on my mind without having to command a legion of stone."

Ron quickly returned to his meal without another word. Draco's eyes unfocused, drifting back to his food, and conversation resumed as it had been. It was a Hogsmeade weekend for third years and up, and various plans were considered. Nobody wanted to leave out Luna, but at the same time, everyone else was coupled up, and there was a strong desire to do something romantic. Luna, of course, seemed oblivious to this, and it wasn't until Ron blurted out they were going on a date did she exclude herself from the conversation. Draco's distance made up for her enthusiasm in the worst way, rendering any plans unapproved by the most particular person of their group. Harry did his best to answer for him, but eventually he had to suggest leaving more detailed planning for another day.

Conversation turned to the Hallowe'en Feast. Hagrid's pumpkins were already quite large, making Hermione fidget nervously regarding his use of magic, and rumors of the Wizarding Sisters coming to play were debated at length. Harry, who had no idea what he planned on going as, remained silent as Hermione and Aurora discussed potential costumes. Ron attempted to steer the conversation away from clothing, but he failed completely, and Hermione and Aurora were still debating cleverness versus spectacle when they exited the Great Hall. The group stopped at the bottom of the stairs, stuck with the inevitable quandary of trying to read Draco's mind.

"Company?" Ron asked.

Draco blinked. "Sorry, what?" Then he seemed to come into himself. "I'm afraid you'll have to use complete sentences, Weasley, and not just spit out random words."

Ron flushed. "D'you want company tonight?"

Draco twined his fingers with Harry's. "I have all I need."

"We'll walk you up to the corridor, though," Aurora said. "Neville and I were headed to the Room of Requirement." Neville flushed furiously at this, and Ron couldn't help himself.

"The Room of Requirement, eh?" he said as they started walking up the stairs. "What're you planning on doing in there?"

"Studying," Aurora said lightly. "Since Neville isn't allowed in my dorm, and the library can be a bit public."

"Public for studying?" Luna asked. "I can't imagine why."

"Not that sort of studying, Luna," Hermione said quietly, and Aurora blushed as well.

"We were going to practice dueling, actually," Neville said. "Not that it's any of your business."

"I imagine that would be loud for the library," Luna said. "Anyway, here's where I split off. See you later," she said, and floated away.

"If you're going to be dueling, you must be very creative indeed," Draco said, startling Harry with his sudden contribution. "I've never heard it referred to as such before, and I have heard of a great many things."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Neville snapped. "Dueling with our wands, for class."

"It's sweet of you to defend me, Neville," Aurora said, "but I think I might go crazy if we don't partake in that sort of dueling as well."

Neville's complexion rivaled that of a Weasley's. "I—er, yes, well, we'll see," he stammered, and Draco snorted derisively.

"This is where we leave you," Hermione said. "Draco, be nice to Neville, alright? He hasn't gotten used to your particular brand of disdain yet, not about this."

"If you insist," Draco sighed. And then, as soon as they were out of earshot from Ron and Hermione, he added, "Jones is right, Longbottom. Long stretches without dueling will drive anyone mad. Though I doubt you'd know; I daresay you haven't ever dueled before, have you?"

"Draco," Harry said quietly, warningly.

"I've had my fair share of dueling," Draco continued. "Though I must say, I have never had a better partner than Harry. He's an excellent dueler, I'm sure you've heard."

"_Draco_," Harry hissed.

"What?" he replied innocently. "You defeated Voldemort. How could one duel better than that?"

"You—don't talk about sex and Voldemort in the same sentence," Harry said angrily.

"I wasn't, don't be ridiculous," Draco replied. "Anyway, Longbottom, have you dueled? It's quite an experience, let me tell you."

"Leave Neville alone," Aurora said, whirling around to face him. "Or at least don't be a coward, and come out and say it. You've 'dueled' a lot, have you? What are you then, the school slut?" Draco looked as if he had been slapped. "And, just in case you were wondering, yeah, I've had sex before, with a single partner. Have you got any other questions for us?"

Draco was staring at her; in fact, so were Harry and Neville. "I—no."

"Great." She faced forward and they started walking again.

"But I'll have you know I'm hardly a slut," Draco added, coming to his senses. "I can't claim a single partner, and I'm sure my experiences have been far more worldly than yours, but there is hardly a student who can claim they've slept with Draco Malfoy."

"Brilliant, thanks for sharing," Aurora replied evenly. They stopped in front of the space of wall that hid the Room of Requirement. She faced him again. "Are we done here?"

Draco sized her up. "I never got a proper answer from Longbottom," he said snidely. "Not that I was expecting one. Besides, we all know what the answer to that is."

"Not what you'd expect, I imagine," she said. "But I'll leave it to Neville to decide if he feels you worthy enough to hear of what he has and has not done."

Harry could practically hear Draco grinding his teeth as Neville flushed and stammered. Aurora leaned up and whispered something in Neville's ear, and he squared his shoulders. "Malfoy, you're a prick, and it's none of your business," he said firmly. "Now get out of the way so Rory and I can get inside."

Harry took Draco's hand and led him down the hallway; Draco was still spluttering indignantly when the reached their portrait.

"Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"That wasn't very nice of you, Draco Lucius Malfoy," the cat said leisurely. "I've got very good hearing, you know. You may choose to go about bragging of your sexual conquests, but some have more sense than that. If it weren't for Aurora Abigail Jones, I'd have to put you in your place myself, but seeing as you still can't manage a coherent word, I think I'll let it slip by. Go on in."

They walked up the stairs and Harry had barely closed the door before Draco had him pressed against it, kissing him violently, shoving a leg between his, grinding their hips together. Harry groaned, responding instinctually, curling his fingers in Draco's hair, thrusting against him. Draco broke away, panting.

"I have had the worst bloody day, and I demand sex," he said. "All that nonsense with Jones and Longbottom—_Merlin_, what bloody _idiots_, I can't stand it. But it's hardly them that's gotten me into this state; that would be you, and your unfailing kindness. Tell me, Potter, how _kindness_ can be sexy, would you? I'm at an utter loss." Draco kissed him again, not giving him a chance to answer, slamming their mouths together, biting Harry's bottom lip before pulling away. "And you're topping this time; I'll talk you through it if you need it, but I'm bloody sick of doing all the work. I damned well deserve to be pampered." He paused. "I suppose I could have you fuck yourself on my cock, but I'd rather just lie there and let you pleasure me. What do you think, Harry? Going to give me what I want?"

**How to Get to the Rest of the Chapter:**

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	34. Chapter 34: Never a Peaceful Hallowe'en

**A/N:** So this chapter is my baby. It took me two days of thinking to figure out exactly what I wanted to have happen and, once I figured it out, the thing flew by. It has everything a good chapter needs: a holiday, dress-up, lots of Neville, a little bit of scariness, and bashing of our least favorite Slytherin. Love it, cherish it, hug your computer screen as I do whenever it comes up.

Er. *clears throat* Or just enjoy it. Y'know, like a normal person. *ahem*

**Chapter Thirty-Four:**

_**Never a peaceful Hallowe'en.**_

Harry, Neville and Ron stood at the bottom of the main stairs, fidgeting. This was the first year the Hallowe'en Feast was to be a costume party, and while Harry was sure they had seemed very clever at the time, the three of them were all feeling a bit ridiculous.

Harry was dressed in shimmering, silvery robes and had enchanted a pair of majestic antlers onto his head. Rather, they had seemed majestic at the time, but now, as he watched princess after pirate after ghost stream into the Great Hall, the idea to be his own Patronus seemed very silly indeed.

Neville was absentmindedly fiddling with one of the tendrils growing off his bright green robes. He was meant to be a Tentacula plant, and while Harry thought the resemblance was remarkable, he wasn't sure what had possessed him to do it in the first place. He had done a good job though; the tendrils were swaying gently in the air, and his skin was a pale green, making him look a little sick.

Ron was dressed as Galvin Gudgeon, the seeker for the Chudley Canons. His costume was very accurate, but the fluorescent orange of the robes combined with his hair and complexion made it look as though he had set himself on fire, or at the very least had fallen into a vat of orange paint.

"I wish they'd hurry up," Ron muttered. "How is it that girls make everything take so long?"

"I dunno, but Draco's made it into an art form," Harry replied. "I imagine he'll make it down just as the Feast ends, and I'll spend my evening standing here looking like a sparkly deer."

"The sparkles are a nice touch," Neville said, meant to be encouraging.

Harry glared at him. "Have your tendrils finally stopped fighting each other, then?"

At his words, three vines immediately began attacking each other, and Neville had to pry them apart. "Would you stop saying that!" Neville shouted. "It just encourages them!"

"Oh look, wait, is that—Hermione?" Ron asked, squinting up the stairs. "Can't be, she was supposed to come with Luna, and that one's alone."

"Luna's got the stomach flu, she couldn't make it," the figure said. "And of course I'm Hermione; can't you recognize me?"

Harry could make out a resemblance, but it was hard. Her hair was loose, long and flowing, complete with a charm to make it wave slightly, as if underwater. Her skin was so dark blue it was nearly black, as were her robes. She had enchanted them to resemble what Harry assumed was the Black Lake—seaweed floated about the hemline, Grindylows hiding amidst the grass, fish swimming along the skirt and up through the bodice, and Harry thought he saw a tentacle wrapping around from behind.

"Up close, sort of," Ron said. "You're the Black Lake, right?"

Hermione beamed. "Of course! I was afraid people wouldn't get it. You, Ron, couldn't be more obvious, and you only stand out more against my black robes, but I suppose we'll manage."

"Hi, guys."

The group turned to see Aurora standing before them. Harry thought she looked stunning; she had gone the princess route, as so many others, but she managed it with a poise and grace befitting of a true princess. She was wearing a pale pink gown that shimmered in the light—far more appropriately than Harry's robes, he thought bitterly—and her hair was pulled back into some fancy style Harry didn't know. She was wearing a delicate, silver crown with a single emerald in the middle.

"Rory, you look…" Neville trailed off, and she blushed. His tentacles were twirling dramatically, and he batted them down. "You look lovely."

"And you look very plant-like," she said diplomatically. "Are we ready to go, then?"

"Still waiting on Draco," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Though you might want to go ahead, I don't know if—"

"Harry," Ron said, looking over his shoulder and elbowing him. "Harry, turn around."

Harry turned, and had to bite back a gasp. Draco was descending the stairs slowly and elegantly, preening. Literally. He was dressed as one of his father's white peacocks; crystalline feathers draped gracefully off his arms, legs that had never seemed longer covered only by tight, white leggings, but most spectacular was his plumage; gauzy feathers rose in an arc behind him, looking like gently falling snow. He was smilingly demurely, but there was nothing about him that indicated he didn't know _exactly_ how good he looked.

"Good evening, all," he said, kissing Harry's cheek and taking his arm, making sure not to ruffle his feathers. "Are we ready, then? No, wait, I can see we're short Luna." Draco still called Harry's friends by their last names—and occasionally the obnoxious nickname—but ever since Luna had given him the dried rosemary, she had risen to first name status.

"She's got the stomach flu," Hermione said. "And Harry, really, you ought to stop staring at Draco like that. It's not proper."

Harry flushed and looked away. "Right then," he said, clearing his throat. "Ready?"

Ron took Hermione's arm and Neville, with some difficulty from the tendrils, took Aurora's.

"Quite an entrance we'll make, I imagine," Draco said, leading the party towards the Great Hall. "I look fantastic, Weasley's guaranteed to blind everyone, and Longbottom's robes are about to tear themselves apart. What an interesting night this will be." Harry stepped on his foot. "And you look—shimmery, my love," Draco added. Harry figured that was as good as he was going to get, as well as all he deserved.

The Great Hall looked incredible. Hagrid's pumpkins had reached record size, and couples were having their pictures taken standing inside the largest. Bats fluttered about the ceiling, deftly avoiding the orange and black crepe paper. Candles lined the walls, purposefully flickering, and jack-o-lanterns were spaced evenly along the tables. Draco wasn't wrong; they did get a few stares when they walked in, though Harry had the suspicion they were mostly directed at Ron, regardless of how incredible Draco looked. They settled at one of the tables—houses weren't seated together, not tonight—and chatted lightly, waiting for the food to appear.

"Draco, those leggings—" Harry whispered.

Draco smiled smoothly. "Yes, I thought you might like them. Now hush, McGonagall's getting up to make a speech."

The Hall quieted, all eyes on their headmistress. She was dressed much as always, though her hat had been replaced with a pair of cat ears, and whiskers had sprouted from her cheeks.

"May I start off this evening by saying that each and every one of you look exquisite." The crowd burst into applause. "After the feast, the tables will be moved to the sides of the room, and Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan will be DJing." No Wizarding Sisters, then. That was alright; Harry had spent enough time at parties with the two in charge of music to trust it would be a good time. Dean and Seamus stood, dressed as marionette and puppeteer, took a bow, and sat. "Please note the punchbowl has been enchanted to prevent any tampering, so don't bother trying. The Hall will close at midnight, but until then, have a very happy Hallowe'en Feast." More cheering, and it doubled as food appeared on the tables. Pumpkin bread in the shape of actual pumpkins, soup served in miniature cauldrons, spaghetti and meatballs made to look like brains—very convincingly so, enough that Harry steered clear. The tables were heaped with all manner of Hallowe'en-themed food, and Harry had a brilliant time.

October had been a good month, for the most part, but the classes had gotten steadily, progressively harder until he was struggling even with Muggle Studies. He had taken to watching Gryffindor Quidditch practices in the very early morning, before Draco had woken, heart tugging. The new Captain and Seeker, Adelaide something, from Australia, was very good, but not as good as he was. She had seen him watching and had invited him over on several occasions, but he had declined each time. As always, Harry was still stared at and whispered about; he mostly ignored the gossip, which centered around his relationship with Draco, though once he had nearly cursed a second-year Gryffindor for loudly implying Harry was a Death Eater for having testified on Lucius' behalf. So despite the fact that his friends were getting along better than ever, despite how well his relationship with Draco was going, despite all the good things in his life, having a night to kick back and relax was exactly what he needed. In fact, he was so busy relaxing, he barely noticed the distinct lack of Slytherins, apart from Draco and a few stray first-years and transfer students.

By the time the Feast ended, Harry was so full he didn't know he'd be able to stand, let alone dance. But the tables were whisked the edges of the rooms, the jack-o-lanterns adorning them rose to hover with the bats and crepe paper, and by the time Dean and Seamus got the music going, he found he could, in fact, dance, or at least move in a way reminiscent of dancing. Neville soon developed an empty bubble around him; his tendrils were continually brushing up against people and startling them, and even Aurora stood a foot or so back. Draco required a bubble of his own, at least in back to protect his plumage, and Harry found if he wasn't careful, it was all too easy to accidentally slam his antlers into somebody. But still, it was great fun, and Harry especially appreciated the first slow song.

Draco took his hand, using his other to pull Harry close, and led them in graceful, twirling circles.

"You're much better at dancing when you've got somebody physically directing your moves," Draco said lightly.

"Yeah—well—" Harry stammered. "You've got feathers sticking out of your arse."

Draco laughed. "I'll have you know they are anchored at my tailbone; you're the only one who has access to my arse, Harry; even feathers aren't allowed anywhere near." Harry flushed. "They are magnificent though, aren't they? I find Father's birds terribly pretentious, but that doesn't mean I'm…above…" He trailed off and stopped moving, looking at something over Harry's shoulder.

"Dray? What's wrong?" Harry asked, turning around and wishing he was taller.

The Hall slowly fell silent, down to the music. And then a laugh so familiar Harry forgot she was dead and immediately reached for his wand. He didn't have it; his silvery robes didn't have pockets, and he hadn't wanted to risk losing it. It combined to create a dreamy feeling, as if he had suddenly slipped into one of his nightmares.

Despite being wandless, and despite Draco's firm hold on his hand, Harry shoved his way to the front of the Hall. A crowd of Death Eaters stood in the doorway, blocking the only way out. They were lead by Bellatrix Lestrange, but Harry easily picked out Fenrir Greyback, Barty Crouch Jr., Yaxley, Wormtail and a handful of others, all of whom he was certain were either dead or in Azkaban. Draco appeared at his side, taking his hand again.

Harry was trying to prepare a speech, or at the very least a sentence, but he couldn't get his brain around what he was seeing. Was this a nightmare the night before the actual Feast? He had seen Bellatrix die, had seen Molly Weasley destroy her. And Barty Crouch Jr. had gotten the Kiss, and Greyback was in Azkaban. So what was this?

Neville suddenly burst forth, wand drawn. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "What have you done?"

"Why, Longbottom, we haven't done anything," Bellatrix said. "We've just come to the party, that's all. We've got an invitation and everything." She flicked a piece of parchment to the floor; it was one of the fliers that had been up around school for the past week or so.

Neville didn't lower his wand. "I always regretted I didn't have the chance to finish you off myself," he said dangerously, and Harry put a hand on his arm, attempting and failing to lower it. He could feel Neville shaking and couldn't begin to fathom what he was feeling.

"Neville, it's not her," he said quietly. "Whatever it is, she's dead."

Then Draco made a choked noise as his father stepped to the front of the crowed.

"Evening, Draco," Lucius said. "Lovely party, though it's gotten a bit quiet, don't you think?"

Draco made another strangled noise, and Harry tightened his grip on his hand. That wasn't how Lucius spoke, he had heard enough to know that. Whoever this was, their impersonation wasn't nearly as complete as Bellatrix's.

"Draco—" Harry started, but was cut off as McGonagall strode through the crowd, followed by Flitwick, Whisp and Hagrid, though Harry doubted the latter would be of much use; he looked more than a bit drunk, and his pink umbrella was not in hand.

"Polyjuice Potion, I image?" McGonagall said. She hadn't even bothered to raise her wand, and Harry wanted to scream at her. So what if it was Polyjuice Potion? They didn't know who the impersonators were, and he was feeling helpless enough as it was with his wand residing comfortably on his bedside table. Whisp, at least, had her wand raised, and Flitwick's hand was hovering over his pocket. "I'm impressed by all the bits of Death Eaters you've managed to collect. How would one come across a piece of Bellatrix Lestrange these days? A dead witch has nothing to offer the potion."

Bellatrix had jerked slightly at the mention of Polyjuice Potion, but she held her place. "So what if it is? The costume rules never said it wasn't allowed."

"Perhaps not, but all books containing the recipe are either banned or found only in my office," McGonagall said. "I am more than capable of finding a hidden book, as you should know. However, I think that unnecessary. Horace?" Slughorn was still sitting at the staff table, and McGonagall looked extremely displeased when she realized. "_Horace_! These are your students, and you will deal with them. Keep watch over them until the potion wears off, and for Merlin's sake, make sure they don't drink anymore."

"O-of course, Minerva, right away," he said, quickly joining her. "Come now, students, let's go."

Before they were out the door, before anyone could react, Neville, who had started to lower his wand, raised it again and screamed, "_Diffindo!_"

Bellatrix shrieked. A jet of blood burst from her shoulder, and suddenly her arm was hanging at a bizarre angle, and Harry saw with a sickened amazement that the limb had been almost completely severed from her body. Whisp rushed forward, conjuring a strip of fabric and wrapping it around the wound as best she could, Bellatrix continuing to scream. Neville lowered his wand, dropping it onto the floor with a clatter. He was deathly pale and looked ready to throw up.

"I—I didn't mean—" he stammered.

"Longbottom, my office, now," McGonagall said severely. "Wait for me by the gargoyle. Amelia, I trust you can take whoever this is up to the infirmary?"

"Already on my way," she said, taking a firm hold on Bellatrix and pushing her through the crowd of Death Eaters, Neville following close behind.

Slughorn looked rather sick himself, but he retained his composure. "Now, all of you, start walking," he said, only a bit shakily. "We'll wait this out in my office." He ushered the group out the door, leaving the Hall in utter silence. Harry picked up Neville's wand, and McGonagall took it from his hands.

"Professor," he started, "Neville, he can't, you can't blame him for—"

"Leave him to me, Potter," she said. She turned to face the Hall. "I think the evening over, as early as it is. While I highly recommend returning to your dorms, curfew remains extended until midnight, and you may do as you wish with the rest of your evening." She swept out of the room and still, the room remained silent. Harry couldn't take his eyes off the bloodstained floor. He knew, in the back of his mind, he should be attending to Draco, who no doubt needed him, but there was so much blood. His mind floated back to the night of the Final Battle; how much blood had been spilt on these floors? How much of it was caused by the Death Eaters that had just been standing before him? How much of it was his fault? He should have known what Neville would do, should have stopped him, and it shouldn't have been too late, but it was.

"Harry." Ron was standing by his side, wide-eyed. "Harry, you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding far away. "Yeah, I'm good." He turned to Draco, who, while still several shades paler than usual, was looking at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Whoever was impersonating Father hardly had his mannerisms down. A fool could see that was not Lucius Malfoy."

Harry turned back to Ron. "Where's Hermione?"

"She's with Aurora," Ron said. "I don't think—Aurora didn't look very good. I dunno if Neville ever told her about his parents, or even if he had, I dunno if she'd recognize Bellatrix."

"Right," Harry said vaguely. Whispered conversation was starting to break out amidst the hall, and Flitwick and Hagrid, who seemed to have sobered up very quickly, began to usher students out of the room. Harry followed the flow of traffic, Ron and Draco at his side, but instead of ascending the stairs, he stood to the side, letting students stream past him. "We should wait for Hermione and Aurora," he said.

"Yeah, course," Ron said.

Harry couldn't see the blood anymore; too many people were blocking his view. How many would leave bloody footprints behind? Would he? He quickly checked the bottoms of his shoes; at least he was in the clear.

"Harry, you don't look well," Draco said quietly.

"You know that was just a prank, right?" Ron said. "Some Slytherins thinking they're terribly clever, showing up dressed as Death Eaters?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry said again.

Hermione and Aurora started to walk past them, and Ron shepherded them over. Aurora looked awful; she was deathly pale and her eyes were red-rimmed as if she had already been crying, though there were no traces of tears. She had taken her tiara off and was turning it over and over again in her hands, and her eyes were fixed on the floor somewhere just behind Ron.

"She wants to wait by the gargoyle," Hermione said nervously. "I've tried telling her, we should go to the common room, but—"

"No," Aurora interrupted firmly. "I've got to wait for Neville."

Hermione looked helplessly at Harry, but he nodded. "Yeah, that's a good idea," he said. "Neville—right, we should be waiting for him."

Hermione stared at him. "A-are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "Come on."

Most of the students had disappeared, and the walk to McGonagall's office was quiet, only running into a few people on the way. Hermione conjured a couch for them, and while Ron sat on one side of her and Aurora on the other, Harry slid to the floor, and Draco sat with him, taking his hands.

"Harry," he said quietly. "Won't you—"

Harry shook his head. "We're waiting for Neville," he said. "I'm fine, I didn't curse anyone, I'm not—"

"Shut up," Aurora said. "Hermione told me who that was, or at least who it looked like, and you've got no business saying things like that. He didn't curse anything other than a memory."

Hermione fidgeted, and Ron took her hand. Harry thought she wanted to argue the point, to say that the person he harmed was very real indeed, but she held her tongue. Harry was equally sure that it wasn't because she thought what Neville did was wrong, or that she was upset with him; she just needed everything to be said just right, to make sure only the truth was told, no matter how harsh. But Ron's touch was quite effective, and instead she said a simple, "We know."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Harry said. "I was just saying—"

"Shut up!" Aurora said, nearly yelling. "I told you, just stop talking!"

But not talking was very hard, because it left room for the image of the bloodstain to come back, and how Neville had raised his arm, and how Harry really should have stopped him, he had enough time, and it only would have taken a knock to the hand for the curse to shoot off harmlessly. Even better, he should have taken Neville's wand away the moment he appeared, as soon as he had seen Bellatrix. He and Neville had never spoken of it, but Harry had always wondered if he regretted not killing her himself, and now Harry had his answer. Yes. In spades.

The wait stretched on and on. Harry began to wonder if Neville had been expelled and they were waiting for his gran to show up and collect him; if so, that would be a long wait indeed, and perhaps Hermione was right, and they should move to the Gryffindor dorms. But Neville couldn't be expelled, that wasn't right at all. Coming from anybody else, the curse would have been enough for not only expulsion but an official trial, but surely not from Neville, not under the circumstances.

Harry heard footsteps and turned towards them automatically, still focused on his thoughts. It was Slughorn, looking particularly worn out and defeated.

"Waiting to talk to Minerva?" he asked.

"We're waiting for Neville," Aurora said definitively.

"Ah, I see," Slughorn replied. "The potion wore off, and I've got the names of the students. Except one, the one who transfigured himself into a werewolf. You're not supposed to use the potion on half-breeds. I've locked them in my office for now; I'm not sure what's to be done with them. All Slytherins, as Minerva expected." He heaved a great sigh. "Why must it always be Slytherins?" Harry was incredibly impressed that he managed to hold his tongue, never mind Ron and Hermione, or Draco. "Anyway, I suppose I shouldn't interrupt, not if she's still with Longbottom." He took out his wand and lengthened the couch, giving himself ample room to sit.

Harry forced himself to remember the Slughorn who fought for Hogwarts, the one who, if not exactly brave, at least followed McGonagall's orders and stayed to fight, rather than the man who told Tom Riddle about Horcruxes, who was so focused on status and fame that he let himself be misled time and time again. No, Slughorn was not evil, or even really bad at all; he was just weak, and liable to let himself be convinced into all the wrong sorts of things.

Slughorn suddenly reached into his pocket. "Here," he said, pulling out a handful of brightly colored candies. "Chocolates, left over from the feast. Have one, each of you— and two for Miss Jones, I should think. I haven't got any real potions on me, but chocolate is better than nothing."

Harry took his piece, handing the last one to Draco. He nibbled at the edge; given how garishly it was wrapped, it wasn't actually that bad. It made him yearn for Lupin, of course, but he pushed the thought away and, by the time he finished the tiny bar, he did feel a bit better. At the very least, it made him aware of Draco sitting next to him, holding his hands, looking worriedly at him. Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder and closed his eyes. Suddenly he was tired, absolutely exhausted. The chocolate had managed to dispel the worst of his thoughts, and he was left with the drain that followed adrenaline.

Aurora spoke, startling Harry out of his daze. "'Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.' Isaiah 1:18. I don't believe in the Bible, but my dad's a minister, Episcopalian, and he—" She seemed unable to continue, so Hermione did it for her.

"But it's still a comfort," she said gently.

"And Luke 23:24; 'And Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they know what not they do."'" Aurora sighed. "I don't know if Neville knew or not, but it's clear enough that whoever he actually cursed wasn't who he had in mind."

"Of course not," Hermione said.

"'Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter'," Slughorn said, again startling Harry. "A Muggle quote, and perhaps I'm stretching it a little, but a good one nonetheless. Longbottom did what we all should have done the moment the Death Eaters began to gain strength; he just did it too late, and to the wrong person." He paused. "Pansy Parkinson, I think. She was missing from the group I was watching."

Harry clenched his teeth and strengthened his grip on Draco's hand. It would be Pansy, wouldn't it? He and Draco hadn't spoken about the Pansy Incident, as Hermione referred to it, since it happened, and he felt a sudden anger filling him. On Neville's behalf, yes, but even more on his own. Not only had he not talked to Draco about what happened, he refused Ron and Hermione's attempts at getting him to open up, and he supposed the wound was still festering, at least to some extent. If she was the one who got Neville expelled, Harry thought he would have to kill her himself. It would be a public service, really.

The gargoyle suddenly shifted to the side, and both Neville and McGonagall appeared. Neville looked an utter wreck; his tendrils had tangled themselves beyond repair, he stood hunched over and defeated, his eyes red and puffy from crying. Aurora immediately ran over to him, pulling him into a hug he returned desperately.

Harry jumped to his feet without thinking. "You can't expel him," he said. "It wasn't his fault, he didn't mean—"

"Settle down, Potter, nobody is getting expelled today," she said. "We all know the circumstances of the attack, and they have been taken into consideration. Never has it been so difficult to arrive at a punishment, and I am not ashamed to say I wished the responsibility fell on someone else's shoulders. But my decision it was, and my word is final: one hundred points from Gryffindor, and the status of Head Boy revoked." She turned to Ron. "That duty falls to you now." Ron gaped at her, and Hermione elbowed him, whispered something, and he closed his mouth. "Mr. Longbottom is lucky; Amelia's Patronus arrived halfway through our meeting, informing us that the cursed witch will make a full recovery, though she'll have to remain in the infirmary for a few days. If there had been a different outcome, Longbottom would not be getting off nearly so lightly." Harry hardly thought his punishment light, but held his tongue.

"Pansy Parkinson, was it?" Slughorn asked sadly.

McGonagall shifted her eyes to him. "Yes. Horace, would you join me in my office? I believe we have some things to discuss."

He stood up, heaving a great sigh. "Of course, Minerva."

"Now get on, all of you. And Hermione, while that couch is a clever bit of Transfiguration, I would ask you not to clutter the halls like this again."

"Yes, Professor," she said, immediately standing up, pulling Ron with her, and Transfiguring it back to the bit of dust it had been.

"I will pardon you for being out past curfew, given the circumstances, but I urge you to return to your dorms immediately." With that, she and Slughorn stepped into the staircase, gargoyle swinging shut behind them.

"Here, I saved this for you," Aurora said, pushing a piece of chocolate into Neville's hand. "Eat it, and don't complain." Neville did as instructed. They continued to stand in the hallway, waiting for somebody to break the silence, to dictate the rest of the night.

"Sleep in our room," Harry said eventually, though the words pained him. He was still focused on the blood, on what he supposed was self-pity, and was hardly in the mood for company. But Neville and Aurora clearly needed to be together, and he wasn't allowed in the Hufflepuff dorms, nor would it be proper for her to stay in the boy's dormitory. "It's fine. We'll turn the couch into a bed, and—"

"Perhaps the Room of Requirement would be easier," Aurora said. "We wouldn't want to impose on you."

That hadn't occurred to Harry. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, definitely," she replied. "We've been really good about using it as sparingly as possible, so I doubt we'll get kicked out, especially not tonight."

"That is probably wise," Draco said. "I don't think Harry is in the mood to entertain."

Harry glared at him. "Neville's more important than that," he said angrily. "My friends—"

"Have got a place to stay," Aurora interrupted. "Besides Harry, really, you look like hell. Come on, let's get going before someone passes out."

"Ten Galleons says it's Harry," Ron said, then added, "Ow!" as Hermione smacked him.

"Nobody's going to pass out," she said firmly. "But she's right, we really ought to go before somebody sees us. I don't fancy running into Filch tonight of all nights." Harry shuddered at the idea.

They walked in silence, Ron and Hermione breaking off to go to Gryffindor Tower, Aurora and Neville stopping at the portrait, leaving Harry and Draco to walk the last ten or twenty yards alone.

"Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, devoid of any emotion. He was exhausted and overwhelmed and he still couldn't get that damned bloodstain out of his head and all he wanted to do was get into bed, and so help the sphinx if it put up a fight.

"I heard what happened," it said. "My deepest apologies." The portrait swung out without a further word, and Draco let them into their room, Harry not having thought to bring his key. Harry was in bed in record time, before Draco had even started the process of removing his costume.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Draco asked, slipping out of his leggings.

"Ngg," Harry muttered, facedown in his pillow.

"Didn't quite catch that," Draco said, carefully removing his tail feathers before magicking them into miniature form and setting them on his dresser as decoration.

"_No_," Harry said sharply, getting pillow in his mouth.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, removing his shirt, taking care not to damage the feathers hanging from the sleeves. "It could help, you know. Father never spoke of his troubles, but Mother always encouraged me to—"

"Shut up," Harry said, still speaking to his pillow. "If you want to go on and on about your feelings go ahead, but I won't—"

"The pillow is still in your mouth, dear," Draco said, slipping into bed and dimming the fireplace.

"_I don't want to talk about it_," Harry said tightly. "Leave it alone."

"If you insist." Harry was facing away, and Draco wrapped himself around him, spooning, not letting go even as Harry tried to jerk away.

"Get off me, would you?" Harry snapped. "I'm not in the mood—"

"I don't care," Draco said, holding him still. "You might be used to keeping everything to yourself, hiding every little emotion, and that's your right, though I will admit I find it distressing that you won't talk to me. But I am not leaving you alone tonight, not when you so clearly need me."

Harry stilled in his arms. He didn't have the energy to fight it and, though he was loathe to admit it, it did make him feel better to be held. "I don't deserve it," he said so quietly Draco barely heard him.

"What on earth are you talking about, Harry? Don't deserve what?"

"I should have stopped Neville," he said. "I was standing right next to him, I could have—"

"No," Draco said firmly, cutting him off. "I saw how quickly he moved; not even the fastest wizard could have stopped him. I won't have you moping about something so ridiculous."

Harry could help a small smile. Draco's dismissiveness could be infuriating, but under the right circumstances, it was peculiarly comforting.

"Now, is there anything else?" Draco asked. "Since it seems you do want to talk after all?"

Harry thought about telling him about the bloodstain, the one tonight and all the others he had caused, but it seemed too difficult to find the words. "No," he said. "That's about it."

"So the fact that you got into a staring match with that blood meant nothing, am I right?"

Harry silently cursed Draco before realizing how obvious he must have been. The rest of the hall was watching Bellatrix—Pansy, he corrected himself—and Neville, and he had been staring at the floor. But still, he shook his head. "It's too much," he said. "Tonight, the Final Battle, all of it. Please don't ask me, Dray, because I will tell you if you pester me enough, and I'm so tired."

"Alright," Draco said, bringing Harry closer. "It's okay. Just sleep." He kissed Harry just beneath his ear.

Harry was asleep almost immediately.


	35. Chapter 35: She said—I didn't—it just—

**A/N:** Wow, I'm really surprised at all the Aurora!bashing going on. I was sure it was going to be Slughorn's turn. Huh. Well, I promise she's not in it much, so don't worry. Though I would like to point out that if Neville was in that situation and _you_ (being in love with him) was there, you might be a little snippy, too. Also, as far as this chapter goes, I'd like to remind you that it's a dream, and Rory's not actually in it ^.^

For those of you desiring of fluff, it is on the way, I promise. Next chapter is medium-fluff, the one after that silly-sexy-fluff, and after that I don't remember because I'm half asleep (see below).

Also, hmm, let's see. I'm up to Christmas Eve (yay!) and Chapter Forty-Six will be pretty much _entirely_ sexy times. I'm going to write it today, if I can stay awake long enough (had to get up early) and it's going to be _brilliant_. I'm really excited.

So enjoy, and remember, it's just a dream and Rory's not actually a terrible person!

**Chapter Thirty-Five:**

_**She said—I didn't—it just—**_

_**(a second interlude)**_

_Harry stood alone in the Great Hall. The floor was covered in a thin sheet of blood, and he was barefoot. He reached for his wand to conjure himself a pair of shoes, but he didn't have it._

"_Harry."_

_He turned to his right. Aurora was standing next to him, dressed in her princess gown. Her arms were crossed, and she was glaring at him._

"_You're going to get blood on your dress," Harry said. The hemline fell just above the floor, barely skating against the blood. She, too, was barefoot._

"_Why didn't you stop him?" she demanded._

"_It happened too fast," Harry said._

"_No it didn't," she replied. "Look."_

_Harry turned forward. A projection of the scene shone in front of him, and he could see everything play out. She was right; he had plenty of time._

"_I didn't think—"_

"_Clearly," she interrupted. "Another body on your shoulders."_

_Harry paled. "What are you talking about? Nobody died."_

_Aurora raised an eyebrow. "No?" she asked. "Look again."_

_Harry turned forward. The scene in front of him was the hospital wing, two figures bent and crying over the broken body of Pansy Parkinson. Harry's stomach jerked._

"_No," he said. "McGonagall said she'd be fine."_

"_She was wrong," Aurora said. "Try having your arm severed, see how you like it."_

"_It wasn't severed," Harry said, starting to panic. "I saw, it was still hanging on—"_

"_Nearly Armless Parkinson," she trilled. "Not quite the same ring as Nearly Headless Nick, but I think it'll do."_

"_No, she's not dead," Harry said, starting to repeat himself. "McGonagall said—"_

"_McGonagall said, McGonagall said," Aurora repeated mockingly. "I bet she also said not to blame yourself for _them_ too, didn't she?"_

_Harry turned forward. Bodies hung in front of him, suspended in midair. Cedric Diggory. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Mad-Eye Moody. The Creevey Brothers. Fred Weasley. His parents. Hedwig. Harry turned away._

"_I couldn't—"_

"_You couldn't help it?" she asked. "No? Are you sure about that?" Her voice changed, though she looked the same. "_I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight._" Aurora's voice returned to her own. "And yet you did not go, Harry Potter. You stayed, and all these deaths are on your shoulders."_

_Harry looked back at the bodies. He saw the bottoms of their feet were bloody. Harry shook his head. "My parents, Sirius, Hedwig, Cedric—they weren't even there. I couldn't—"_

"_Oh, shut up," Aurora said, sounding almost bored. "You couldn't do this, you couldn't do that, it was all Voldemort's fault. Get over yourself, Harry Potter, and open your eyes._

"_Your friends are the ones who fought. Your friends stayed, while you ran around doing the bidding of a dead wizard. You friends stayed when you couldn't be bothered to return to Hogwarts seventh year. Neville, he's the real hero. He stood up to Voldemort while you played dead. He killed Nagini, as if you didn't have ample chances yourself. Neville's parents were tortured beyond all recognition, and he doesn't go to pieces every time somebody mentions how his eyes look like his mom's._

"_No wonder you like Draco so much; cowards, the both of you. You'd rather sit back and watch your friends die than stand up and fight."_

"No_," Harry said, almost yelling. "You weren't there, you don't know how it was."_

"_I don't?" she asked. "What do you think Neville and I talk about, late at night? He hasn't got anybody to talk to; Ron and Hermione are too self-involved, and you've abandoned him. You spent the summer sulking alone, and this year you've renounced your house in favor of a Death Eater. How does it feel waking up every morning wrapped in an arm bearing the Dark Mark?"_

_Harry's stomach clenched. "He isn't—it's not—"_

"_Don't make excuses," Aurora said. "I've seen it myself. He thinks he does such a good job covering it up, and you believe his intentions but really, he flashes it every chance he gets."_

"_Pansy's not dead," Harry said. "McGonagall wouldn't lie to me."_

_Aurora shrugged. "So what if she isn't? A mistake. Neville's never been entirely handy with a wand. He may have missed her throat, and her arm may be hanging on by a thread, and Pomfrey may be able to magic it back on, but the intention was clear, and you know it. _'Cursed he who holds back his sword from blood.' _Jeremiah 48:10."_

"_I don't understand," Harry said. "You condone Neville's curse while saying it's my fault he nearly killed Pansy, and hold those who died in the battle above my head?"_

"_Neville did what he thought was right," Aurora said. "You're just a coward, Harry Potter. A filthy, little coward."_

"_No," Harry said. "No. No. No—_

"No—no—no—"

"Harry!" The voice was sharp, and cut through the fog. "Harry, wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying in bed, Draco hovering over him. "No," he said again. "Wait. No, that was wrong. Yes. I mean, wait." He sat up, rubbing his temples. "What?"

"Nightmare," Draco said, sitting next to him, pressing their bodies together. He took Harry's hands, held them tightly. "It didn't sound like the one with Bellatrix, you weren't screaming; or the one with my Father. You just kept saying no over and over again." Almost desperately, Harry checked the bottoms of his feet. No blood. "Harry, what are you doing?" Draco asked, sounding almost afraid.

"Nothing," Harry said, leaning back against the headboard. "Just checking. It's nothing. We should go see how Neville's doing."

Draco eyed him carefully. "It's quarter past three in the morning. He'll be asleep."

"And Pansy," Harry said. "Make sure she's not dead."

Draco grabbed his face in his hands, forcing eye contact. "Harry," he said firmly. "You had a dream. Neville's fine, Pansy's fine, you're fine. You're scaring me a little, but you're fine. Wake up the rest of the way, would you? If you keep talking nonsense, I'll bring you to the infirmary myself."

Harry shook himself. "Sorry," he said, pulling away. "I'm sorry. You're right, I'm fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't mean—my mom, my dad, Sirius, especially my mom, she meant—"

"_Harry_." He turned to Draco. "You're not dreaming anymore. You're with me. Just me. Nobody else is here."

"I know I'm not dreaming," Harry said angrily. "That's my point. None of what happened was a dream, it was all real, and everything is my fault. My mum, she died for me, she gave everything so I could, what? Run away when things got scary? Let Neville nearly kill someone? Watch as the entire castle was destroyed because of me?"

"Since when do you run away?" Draco asked. "This year alone: you pushed to the front of the crowd tonight even though you didn't have your wand, you fought back against Whisp that first day while the rest of us sat stunned, you hit a bloody Bludger at my head. You are not one to back down from a fight."

Harry shook his head. "You don't understand. The night of the Final Battle, when Voldemort called for me, I should have gone, nobody would have died if I had just gone to him. All that blood—the Great Hall, covered in blood, that's my fault, that's on my shoulders, tonight and that night."

Draco paused. "Why didn't you go?"

Harry's thoughts were swirling, he could barely think of the answer. "Horcruxes, I had to kill Voldemort, find the diadem—I saved you, finding the diadem, and Crabbe destroyed that with his Fiendfyre, and Neville killed the snake, and Ron and Hermione destroyed Hufflepuff's cup with the Basilisk fang, but I needed to find the diadem, otherwise I would have gone, and then—"

"Horcrux?" Draco interrupted. "Harry, I have no idea what you're saying."

Harry took a deep breath. "I needed to destroy the Horcruxes so I could kill Voldemort. I was the last one, that's why I had to die that night, but I could have done that later, I should have gone to the forest first, I could have—have, I don't know, but I could have done something, and then we could have destroyed the rest of them."

"You aren't making any sense," Draco said. "What were you? What's a Horcrux?"

"I can't say," Harry said. "Dumbledore made me promise, we have to let the magic die out. But you wouldn't use it, would you, I suppose not, I probably could tell you, I don't know." He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I'm sorry, I'm racing around, Aurora kept talking and talking—"

Draco frowned. "Aurora? What has she got to do with this?"

"She was in my dream," Harry said. "She said all these things, not me." He took another breath. "A Horcrux is an object, any object, that a wizard can put part of his soul into. The only way to do it is by killing someone; it splits the soul. Voldemort thought he had made six Horcruxes, but he was wrong, I was the last one. When he killed me, he killed himself."

"That's a real thing, then, and not part of your dream?" Draco asked.

Harry frowned angrily. "Yes, of course."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I hadn't heard of it before, and you're not being very clear," Draco said.

"I'm trying!" Harry yelled. "I just, my head is going to explode. The Horcruxes don't matter, I mean they do, but that's not what I'm trying to say. I'm saying that it's my fault that everybody died that night, that the castle was destroyed. It's my fault Neville cursed Pansy tonight. It's—it's all—" He broke off, surprised to realize he was close to tears.

"It is _not_ your fault," Draco said firmly. "None of it. You saved Hogwarts; never mind Hogwarts, you saved the world by killing Voldemort. If you had to destroy something first, then so be it. And I told you earlier, you had no control over what Neville did. That was his decision, not yours. Harry, are you listening to me?" Harry's eyes snapped back to Draco's. He had started to wander off again, but he forced himself to focus. "Everything you've said, that's something I have to deal with, every day. I stood back and let it happen, I even played a part in it. _You_ did not, and it's an insult to both of us for you to go around saying such things. You deserve better than to berate yourself; self-pity doesn't suit you, nor is it the truth. As for those of us who do warrant such accusations, well, you don't see me whining about it, do you? I made the choices I made and I live with them. Don't pretend you're on the same level as me, it's pathetic on your end and embarrassing on mine."

Harry tried to reconcile Draco's words with the jumble of his thoughts. Draco squeezed his hands, and Harry had the presence of mind to squeeze back.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again. "It was that bloodstain on the floor, it all just came crashing back."

"I know," Draco said gently. "I saw you looking at it, I told you to talk to me about it, remember?"

"Yeah, well, shut up," Harry said.

Draco kissed his cheek. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"A glass of water would be brilliant," Harry said.

Draco conjured a glass, filled it from his wand, and handed it to Harry. He took small sips, relishing the coldness spreading through his body. He hadn't realized how overheated he had been until now.

"What do you want me to do?" Draco asked. "Do you want to talk more, or cuddle, or…?"

"Just hold my hand, okay?" Harry said, setting his glass of water down. "Hold me, and hold my hand."

Draco did as he was asked. He curled himself around Harry, resting his head on his chest, wrapping their legs together, twining their fingers. Harry breathed deeply, letting the familiar scent of vanilla wash over him.

"I'm actually rather glad you get nightmares," Draco said. "It's terribly selfish, I know, but Merlin knows how long it would have taken you to come around if it hadn't become my job to offer nightly comfort."

Harry smiled. "Suppose so."

Draco sighed, cuddling further into his arms. "That first night when we fell asleep in the Room and you woke me up. You nearly kicked me out, remember? I thought my heart would stop when you asked me to stay. And waking up with you the next morning, I could have sworn it was a dream. When you owled me the second time, I swear Harry, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I almost didn't come, I was so convinced it was a prank. But instead you kissed me. Again."

"I did, didn't I?" Harry said. "I kissed you first, both times."

"I daresay you would have slapped me if I had tried anything," Draco said.

"Maybe," Harry replied. "I dunno." He yawned. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. As long as you're here, I don't care how you managed it."

Draco squeezed his hands. "Lie down, would you?" Harry slid down the headboard until he was on the same level as Draco. Draco kept one hand in Harry's and wrapped his other arm around him, pulling him closer. He kissed Harry, slowly and sensually, completely thoroughly, replaced the last vestiges of his nightmare with something far better. "Now sleep, love. I'll be here."

Harry kissed him again, sleepily. "Okay." Bloody feet flashed through his head, but he pushed them away. "Okay."

Draco hugged him. "Okay."


	36. Chapter 36: Gryffindors Never Abandon

**A/N:** Not much to say today. OH EXCEPT. Except last night I rewatched Deathly Hallows pt. 2 (hysterical the whole time through, used up half a box of tissues, needed to clean my glasses three times) and I realized that somehow I never noticed (or more likely cared) that Lavender is killed. So, um. Let's just ignore the fact that she's alive and well in my story, yeah? I only mention her once or twice, and while I feel like an idiot and I don't think it will come up again, just know that I have alerted myself to (yet another) piece of canon I accidentally screwed up. Whoops. In my favor, it's like two seconds of movie time and half a line in the book but still, I should have known. We'll just forget that ever happened now, yes? Yes.

Also, next chapter is vey fluffy and silly and sexy (but not enough to be posted on Google Docs, don't worry) and the chapter is named after a Doctor Who reference, so it gets double points for that.

For those of you wondering how the story at large is progressing: I'm going to be starting chapter forty-six today, which takes place in the wee hours of Christmas morning (not sexy times, that was chapter forty-five; for those of you who lived for sexy times, you are going to fucking _keel over_ at forty-five). That should give you some sort of timeframe for the next ten or so chapters.

One last **warning:** there's some language in this chapter. Not a lot, but a bit, and just in case some of you have sensitive ears, I feel I should post a warning. I've done the swearing-and-accidentally-insulting-everyone-in-the-room thing before, and it's definitely better to err on the side of caution.

Anyway! Go forth and enjoy!

**Chapter Thirty-Six:**

_**Gryffindors Never Abandon Their Own.**_

Harry woke up to the disorienting sound of McGonagall's voice.

"Attention students—Given last night's affairs, my fellow professors and I have decided that this morning's breakfast will be mandatory. I will inform any students unaware of the events that took place last night, as well as the repercussions facing the Slytherin and Gryffindor houses. However, we have taken into account that it is the weekend, and you may not have slept as well or as long as you would have liked, so we are—for today only—moving breakfast to ten. We will see you then."

The announcement cut off. Harry groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. Getting up? Out of bed? That hadn't been part of his plan for today at all. No, he was going to summon his homework to his bed, eat whatever the house elves brought or, if they didn't show up, survive off candy for the day, and quite possibly spend his spare time shagging Draco's brains out. Not one of those actions required getting out of bed.

"What time's it?" Draco muttered.

Harry cracked an eye open and reached for his wand, conjuring a clock. "Six-thirty."

"If we don't have to be out of bed until ten, why didn't she bloody well wait until then?" Draco grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.

Harry's arm collapsed, his wand hitting the table harder than it should have. "Fuck if I know." He rolled over, gathering Draco in his arms, and settling in. Draco sighed happily.

"How're you doing?" he asked. "Better than last night?"

"Yeah," Harry said, breathing in the comforting scent of vanilla. "No more nightmares."

"Good," Draco said. "Now shut the fuck up and go back to sleep."

Draco woke him up much later, kissing down his jaw-line, nibbling at the skin, hands sweeping over his body.

Harry hummed quietly, slowly coming around. "Are you teasing me, or do we have time to fool around before breakfast?" he asked.

"Just teasing," Draco said, finding a sensitive spot on Harry's neck and sucking. When it had reddened to his satisfaction, he said, "It's quarter of ten. We should get going."

Harry pulled him up for a proper kiss before getting out of bed. He actually felt fairly well rested, all things considered, though he was dreading breakfast. He didn't know how McGonagall could explain without horribly embarrassing Neville, and making all Gryffindors hate him for having lost them so many points. Although he supposed he was curious what she would have to say in defense of the Slytherins, if anything.

"Suppose Neville and Aurora are still in the Room of Requirement?" Harry asked, getting dressed. "Maybe we can pick them up on the way and, y'know, escort them down."

"Assuming Longbottom goes," Draco said, pulling on a customarily black outfit. "I certainly wouldn't if I was him."

Harry glared at him. "And then you'd lose your house even more points and appear even more selfish than you already are. Come on, let's go." They walked down to the door of the Room, and Harry knocked loudly. "Neville? Aurora? You in there?"

The door opened right away. Neville had huge bags under his eyes, which were still red and puffy, and Harry suspected he hadn't slept at all. Aurora stood next to him, looking about the same.

"There you are," Neville said, and Harry was pleased to hear his voice sounded strong. "We thought you'd come for us."

"By which he means if you hadn't shown up, I couldn't have dragged him out of here if my life depended on it," Aurora said, gently pulling Neville into the hallway and closing the door, which promptly vanished.

Neville flushed. "I was going to go," he said quietly. "When would I have another chance to be completely and utterly humiliated in front of the entire school?"

Aurora took his hand. "It won't be like that, I told you. Everybody's going to understand."

"Really, Neville, they will," Harry said, briefly squeezing his shoulder. "It'll be okay." He glared at Draco, who looked pained.

"You'll—it'll be fine," Draco said through clenched teeth.

"Thanks," Neville said numbly. Aurora squeezed his hand, and he squared his shoulders. "Right then," he said, sounding strong again. "I was awarded ten points my first year here, surely I can stand watching a hundred taken away from me. Let's go."

They walked to the Great Hall in silence, among the last to arrive. Harry listened as the quiet murmurs in the Hall stopped as they walked through the doors. He saw the four seats Ron and Hermione had saved for them, felt all the eyes on Neville as if they were on himself. It was worse, being on the sidelines like this. He would have taken Neville's place in an instant if his friend wouldn't have had to live through this.

Yet still, McGonagall remained silent. Harry looked around; every seat was filled, aside from those that always remained empty at the Slytherin table. He couldn't figure out why the silence was being dragged on for so long until Slughorn came in, dragging Goyle by the arm. The only noise to be heard was the scuffling of Goyle's shoes, and then the sound of him being shoved into a seat. Slughorn took a seat at the professor's table with a deep frown, and finally, McGonagall rose.

"Now that we are all here," she said, directing a stern look at Goyle, "we can begin.

"I'm sure most of you know, or think you know, what happened last night at the Feast. Let me start off by saying that what I am about to tell you is extremely personal, and had I not been granted permission, I would not speak of them. In fact, I still question the wisdom of sharing these details, but it has been requested of me, and I shall oblige.

"Last night, a group consisting of seventeen of your fellow classmates—all Slytherins—" There were some boos at this, but they quieted quickly enough "—arrived at the Feast under the influence of Polyjuice Potion, a potion that changes your voice and appearance into that of another for a limited time. These students took advantage of the recent war and took the shape of Death Eaters, several very well known indeed.

"One of these students—Pansy Parkinson—had, over the summer, snuck into Malfoy Manor and stolen a hairbrush belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange." Draco grabbed Harry's hand, and Harry could see his jaw working, teeth clenching. "I am sure you are all aware of her notoriety, but very few have heard the story of what happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom, Neville Longbottom's parents. Shortly after his birth during the first war, Bellatrix Lestrange tortured his parents to the point of insanity, and they have been in St. Mungo's Hospital ever since."

Whispering broke out. Neville looked very pale but also very determined. His eyes had cleared; not a single sign of a tear remained, only resolution.

"That said, perhaps it is easier to understand Mr. Longbottom's actions. Last night, when he saw Miss Parkinson looking identical to the woman who had caused him so much pain, he did what any of us would do when faced with such a situation—he cursed her. Quite severely. She is currently in the infirmary recovering in the very capable hands of Madame Pomfrey, who has informed me she should be mended within the week.

"But, however much we might sympathize with Mr. Longbottom's actions, he cannot go unpunished. One hundred points have been taken from Gryffindor, as well as his status of Head Boy." She had to break off due to the chorus of outrage from the Gryffindor table. Neville looked shocked at the support, and Harry thought he heard Aurora saying that she told him so, though it was hard to hear amongst the shouts and yells. McGonagall raised her hands, and the table quieted, for the most part. "Ronald Weasley is your new Head Boy, and I expect you to show him every bit the respect and esteem as you did Mr. Longbottom.

"However, there are those who deserve a punishment far worse than Mr. Longbottom's. Each and every Slytherin who took part in this despicable act has lost the house so many points the hourglass has been reset to zero. There was much debate over whether or not a house could have negative points, but due to Professor Slughorn's—" She cleared her throat before continuing. "—thorough research, he successfully proved that it is a clear violation of the school rules. In addition to the removal of points, they have had their Hogsmeade privileges revoked for the rest of the school year, as well as being banned from any further school gatherings, including the graduation ceremony." There was a mix of boos and applause, and Harry supposed there were an awful lot of people who thought they deserved much worse. "They have also lost the privilege of playing on their Quidditch team, rendering today's game a victory to the Hufflepuffs." Loud applause broke out at the Hufflepuff table, and from Aurora, who let go of Neville's hand only long enough to clap, as well as scattered cheers throughout the Hall at the Slytherins losing anything. "Although this is not an official punishment, Mr. Blaise Zabini was foolish enough to attempt to use the Polyjuice Potion to transform himself into a half-blood, and will be spending the rest of the term in the infirmary, waiting until he no longer resembles, acts as or is in any way is related to the werewolf Fenrir Greyback." Hermione smirked at this; she knew first hand the dangers of transforming into anything not human, and it seemed she was quite pleased at Zabini's predicament.

"Now, I had wanted to save this announcement for a happier moment, but I believe you all are in need of some good cheer. We have chosen to have a Yule Ball this year to celebrate the uniting of the wizards under our roof as well as in the rest of the world, and as a special treat for surviving the war. Unlike previous years, the Ball will take place the Friday before Christmas, allowing those who choose to go home for the holidays to attend. It will still be restricted to fourth-years and up, though younger students may be invited. Though it pains me to say it, there will be security present, in order to prevent a repeat of the last night's disaster." There was a burst of cheering at the prospect of the Yule Ball, but she quickly quelled it.

"One last thing before I leave you to your breakfast: I deeply regret that such a thing happened in our school, perpetrated by our very students. I have no doubt that some of them thought it a mere prank, but others were well aware of the damage they intended, and succeeded, to cause. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has a long history as an upstanding school producing none but the finest witches and wizards. In these times especially we are under the public eye, and we must behave as such. I have always been proud to call Hogwarts my school, and I refuse to tolerate this type of behavior. Were it up to me—" She cleared her throat again, and shot a withering look at Slughorn, who seemed not to notice. "Well, it hardly matters what I would have done had the decision of punishment been mine and mine alone.

"With all that said, you are hereby released from my speech, and free to enjoy your breakfast."

The tables were suddenly laden with food, and another round of applause broke out, Gryffindors being the loudest of all. Neville was the center of attention, receiving handshakes, pats on the back and words of encouragement, none of which he was expecting. It seemed the whole house was on his side, not a single student was upset with him for costing their house so many points; on the contrary, there was much heated discussion of the fairness of any punishment at all, let alone such a hefty fine. And it was decided, with some relief on Ron's part, that as far as Gryffindors were concerned, Neville remained their Head Boy, leaving Ron only with the duties Neville couldn't perform without the official title.

Eventually the chatter died down as the students turned to the food in front of them, and it was only then that Draco said, very quietly, "Neville, I'm truly sorry about what happened, last night and the night my aunt cursed your family."

If Neville had seemed shocked before, he looked positively dumbfounded at this. "I—thanks," he stammered.

Draco's expression hardened. "And when I get my hands on that fucking Parkinson cunt for daring to break into our Manor, no doubt disabling the protection spells the way _I_ taught her, I swear on Merlin's beard, I going to—"

Harry laid a hand on Draco's arm and he quieted, though he was clearly still seething. "Eat," Harry said, putting a cheese Danish on his plate. "We all hate her, it's old news, now eat." Draco tore off a bite and began ranting again, though Harry couldn't understand a word he was saying. "Draco, don't talk with your mouth full," Harry said with a bit of a smile. "I can't understand you, and you're getting crumbs down your front."

Draco glared furiously at him and swallowed what had to be more than was comfortable. "I _said _I'm going to owl Father and have him—" He broke off. "Owl Mother, then, and have her rework all the spells on our Manor. If someone as horrifically daft as Pansy could get in, goodness knows who else has been traipsing through our Manor unknown. I'll send Brian; she still hasn't seen him."

Harry thought he had a point. Now that all ties with his Slytherin friends had been severed, it would be wise for them not to be able to visit the Manor any time they saw fit. "Fine, but finish breakfast first."

Draco had another bite, muttering incoherently under his breath before suddenly bursting out, "And what if she was in _my_ room, what then?"

Harry laced his fingers through Draco's. "Calm down, Dray, please. Don't you think having her arm nearly severed is punishment enough?" He saw the glare from Aurora and chose to ignore it, keeping his eyes on Draco.

"No," he said bitterly. "That's hardly even a proper beginning. Slytherins—and Malfoys, mind you—do not take well to such betrayals."

Harry turned Draco's face to his and kissed him, tasting Danish on his lips. "Breathe," he said gently. "If Neville can survive this, surely you can."

"She didn't break into his _house_, his _home_—"

"No, but you know full well what Bellatrix did," Harry said, dropping his voice. "Now shut up, stop being so selfish, and finish your damned breakfast. We'll play a game of Quidditch after, yeah?"

Draco looked as if he was about to continue his tirade but instead let out a deep breath. "Fine. Quidditch it is." He sat back in his seat, arms crossed and glaring at all who dared look at him while Harry finished eating. He grabbed Harry's arm as soon as he cleared his plate, but Harry shook him off.

"Neville, you okay?" he asked. "D'you mind if Draco and I go off for a bit?"

"It's fine," he said. "We're still on for studying tonight, right?"

"Yeah, of course. We'll stop by Gryffindor Tower after Quidditch and collect you."

"Sounds good. Have fun," he replied.

Now that his obligations were complete, Draco renewed his grip on Harry's arm and physically dragged him out of the Hall and over to the Quidditch field, which was fortuitously empty. Since there was supposed to be a game going on, it shouldn't have been a surprise. He and Draco had started keeping their robes in the changing rooms once fall had truly set in, and they dressed and were on their brooms in a matter of minutes, the snitch invisible in the field.

"Stakes?" Harry asked. It had been a while since they'd played, what with their homework load increasing and the advent of the first game of the year taking up nearly all daylight hours with house practices.

Draco had calmed down a little, the cold air biting through his robes and turning his cheeks a fantastic pink. "Winner gets to bash in Pansy's head?" Evidently not as calm as Harry suspected.

"Was I this upset when you got to second base with her on my couch?" Harry asked. "No, I was not. I was calm and reasonable—"

"—and knocked a Bludger into my head, rendering your point moot," Draco interrupted. "However, I suppose Slytherin doesn't need to lose any more points—not that they can, but the principal remains—and I don't fancy being the cause of such disdain, so I suppose that's out of the question."

"Keep in mind we've got homework," Harry said. "Loads, since we didn't do any last night. Hurry up and think of something, and make sure whatever it is doesn't take too long."

Draco's eyes glinted and he smiled silkily. "I do believe I know what you're _driving_ at, Potter, and no, I won't suggest such a thing. However, perhaps a quick blowjob for the winner couldn't hurt, and I daresay it would drastically improve my disposition when I win."

"Or you'd just ignore it completely," Harry said. "You never took me up on that chance to snog anywhere in the castle."

Draco's smirk widened. "Then let's combine the two, shall we? Winner gets a blowjob wherever he wants, as long as it's entirely inappropriate."

Harry flushed. "I—I suppose," he stammered. "Anywhere you'd like to set off-limits?"

"Just the regular place," Draco replied flippantly, though the topic was anything but. They had agreed by a mutual silence that they were never to speak of, go near or interact in any way whatsoever with the Astronomy Tower, an arrangement that kept their relationship strong and the worst of the memories at bay.

"And only once we've finished homework," Harry added, to which Draco rolled his eyes but nodded. "On three." They shot up into the air, and Harry's exposed face and hands were almost immediately numb. The temperature had been steadily dropping, but it must have taken a dive since they had last played because he couldn't remember it being this cold in a long time. In fact, not having to play under these circumstances was half the reason he hadn't joined the team this year. "Last match of the season!" Harry called out as Draco flew by.

"Or you'll just have to get a decent cloak and some warmer Seeker's gloves," Draco said, momentarily waving his clad hands in the air.

"My cloak is plenty decent," Harry shot back. He didn't mention his gloves, which were the same ones he'd had since first year, and were more than a little worse for wear. "Gloves won't keep my face warm, though!"

Draco slowed, allowing Harry to catch up to him and handed him the flask containing the Salamander hot chocolate. "Here," he said, sounding as if it was a huge imposition when Harry knew full well he kept a vat of it under the bed. "Just so you'll stop complaining, mind you."

Harry drained half the flask and handed it back with a smile. "Heaven forbid you actually do anything nice for me."

Draco sniffed. "Hardly." Then he leaned in for a kiss, nearly pulling Harry off his broom as he anchored them together. He broke off and zoomed away without another word, just his trademark smirk at Harry's failure to move. By the time he gathered himself Draco was halfway across the field, and too far away to yell at. As revenge Harry started legitimately working to find the Snitch; he would have been happy to let Draco win this one, given his mood, but that kiss hadn't been playing fair, and Harry was not one to tolerate cheating.

He and Draco saw the Snitch at the same moment, hovering directly between the two. They both dashed forwards, careening upwards at the last minute as it jolted away from them. Harry ignored Draco completely, tuning out everything but his broom, his outstretched hand and the Snitch, dancing so close but just out of reach. He urged his broom faster, pushing everything he had into it, and just barely closed his fingers around it before Draco slammed his hand against Harry's, swearing angrily.

"I deserved that!" Draco yelled. "I saw it first!"

"You did not!" Harry replied. He wasn't particularly concerned about Draco's shouts; they were part of the package when it came to playing Quidditch with him. "If anything, you only moved when you saw me heading towards it."

"Hardly!" Draco scoffed. "See if I ever give you hot chocolate again, Potter, not after that disastrous outcome. If you hadn't been kept warm by _my_ potion, there's no way you would have won. Your hand would have frozen in position, unable to close around the Snitch."

"Don't call it a potion, Draco, Merlin," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Though I suppose you're right. Next time I'll snag some of my own before leaving." They landed peaceably, Draco returning the Snitch to its rightful place. Cloaks and brooms were put away, and they held hands as they walked to the castle.

Draco let out a huge sigh, one Harry had learned meant nothing more than a good whine. "I can't believe I've got to do homework with _your_ friends for Merlin knows _how_ long and then be _dragged_ out of my room to someplace _terribly_ embarrassing, all just to give _you _a damned _blowjob_ you don't even deserve."

Harry smiled and remained silent. They both knew there wasn't anything behind Draco's words; Harry's friends had become his, even if he wasn't exactly warm towards them, and still called them by their last names, never mind the fact that he'd love the thrill of doing something naughty someplace they could get caught. Not to mention that he loved giving Harry blowjobs, especially when Harry was especially demanding about it.

So, really, Draco had hardly lost at all.


	37. Chapter 37: The Silence in the Library

**A/N: **First off, the title of this chapter is ripped shamelessly from one of my all-time favorite Doctor Who episodes. It was just _too funny_ not to.

**Warning:** mildly explicit sexual contact between two consenting of age—men? Boys? I dunno, whatever. Not so much so that it's sent to Google Docs, but enough that it needs a warning. Hint: it involves the blowjob from the Quidditch match.

And a different sort of warning: I'm not sure I'll be able to publish a chapter tomorrow. One of my best friends and I are spending the day together before she moves to Wisconsin, and I'll almost certainly be busy with her. I _might_ be able to get one up before she comes, but that's really early, and then I have to drop her off at the airport at three in the morning, so there's a _chance_ I'll be able to publish after that, but it wouldn't be until three-thirty or four and at that point, I might as well just wait until Wednesday. Then again, I may have an opportunity in the middle of the day, who knows. Just know that if something doesn't get published I haven't disappeared, and your regularly scheduled programming with resume Wednesday.

**Chapter Thirty-Seven:**

_**The Silence in the Library**_

Draco did not make studying easy.

He had either broken into Harry's candy stash or had one of his own, and he was continually eating a sugar quill, or a Licorice Wand, or even just a regular Muggle lollypop, though eating was perhaps too nice a term. One minute he'd be completely focused on his homework, reading through a Herbology text or writing an essay, and then his eyes would be on Harry as he licked his way through a sugar quill, closing his eyes and sighing so very, very quietly as he slid the treat in and out of his mouth. He'd always manage to stop just before Hermione looked over, or as Neville started to ask a question, leaving Harry alone in his personal hell. While everyone else was making decent progress on the pile of homework—including Neville, who really ought to have been the one having trouble focusing—Harry had barely made it past the first paragraph of his Muggle Studies essay.

It was a lollypop that made him snap. Draco had been carefully sucking and licking it for what seemed like _hours_ and it wasn't getting any smaller, nor was he showing any signs of finishing it any time soon. Harry was grinding his teeth and had carefully positioned his Muggle Studies book on his lap, but his eyes were glued to Draco, his fingers gripping the book slowly turning white.

"Harry, for goodness sakes, that's an Everlasting Lolly," Hermione said eventually, causing Harry to jerk out of his daze and Draco to quickly drop the candy back into his seemingly endless bag of treats. "He's not going to finish it, and you're not going to get any work done while he's—"

"I've got to send an owl to Mrs. Malfoy," Harry interrupted. He stood, keeping his Muggle Studies book covering his lap. "About the—um—the charms, on her Manor," he stammered. "Right, Draco?"

Draco rose smoothly, and Harry was less than pleased he didn't need anything so trivial as a book; no, like always, Draco was in perfect control of his body. "I did indeed intend to send such a letter," he said. "But Harry, I thought you wanted to wait to go to the Owlery until after you finished your homework?"

"Going to the Owlery," Aurora mused. "I'm not sure I like the connotations of that one." Ever since the "dueling" incident, she and Draco had entered into an unspoken competition over who could come up with the—well, Harry wasn't sure if it was the best or the worst—euphemism for sex.

"I thought she'd like to know right away," Harry said, stepping behind the couch before dropping the book onto his seat. "Y'know, security and everything."

"Don't you need parchment and a quill for that?" Draco asked teasingly. "I don't see any within your reach; surely you must come around from behind the couch to fetch some."

"I've started keeping a store in the Owlery," Harry countered, which was true. After being reduced to burning holes in parchment, Harry thought it wise to always have a supply, though he rarely needed it now that he and Draco were living together. "Come on, then."

Aurora frowned. "Harry, really, I don't like this idea of going to the Owlery," she said. "All those birds, being made to watch—"

"Watch me pen a letter?" Harry asked sharply. "Yeah, must be a great thrill for them. Come on, Dray, let's go."

Draco considered continuing to tease him, but he relented. "If you insist. We shall return shortly, after owling Mother."

"That's even worse," Aurora said, crinkling her nose. "Why drag your mom into this? That's just crass."

"Goodbye, Jones," Draco said lightly, opening the door for Harry as they walked out.

Harry was against him as soon as the door closed, pushing him into the wall, claiming his mouth, grinding himself against Draco. Draco hummed quietly, pleased, before pushing him away. "I should think you would have thought of somewhere more creative than just outside our own door," he said with an arched eyebrow. "But if you insist…" His hands moved down, fluttering over Harry's jeans, and Harry pushed them away.

"Sod off," he snapped. "Couldn't make it to the Owlery, not without touching you first. Now hurry up; this is your fault, and you're going to fix it."

"In the Owlery?" Draco mused. "That's hardly sanitary, nor—"

"No, not in the bloody Owlery," Harry snapped. "I hadn't gotten as far as to where; I'm much more concerned with _now_ and _before my pants suffocate me_."

Draco deliberated. "Well, just how naughty do you want to be, Harry? I'd imagine you'd think McGonagall's office an insult to dear old Dumbledore, not to mention all the times you've been yelled at or given bad news there, I doubt you could keep it up, even for me." Harry made a noise of agreement. "Whisp's office offers a certain amount of danger and potential humiliation, but we have no way of knowing if she's there or not, and I don't fancy a surprise run-in, not with you looking the way you do. I daresay she'd think we came to shag her." Draco shuddered. "I couldn't imagine anything more embarrassing. The Quidditch field is most likely empty, given the fact that there was supposed to be a game today, but perhaps that doesn't offer quite enough of a thrill." Draco stopped; they had been walking at random, and were currently standing in front of the library. His eyes glinted. "Harry," he said slowly, "how would you care to continue our study session?"

Harry glared at him. "What are you talking about, Draco?"

"Well," he said smoothly, "you could continue to get your homework done—or continue not to, as the case may be—and I could finish you off beneath a table."

Harry's breath hitched, which did not escape Draco's notice. "Someone would see you," he said. "Those tables, they're not covered or—"

"Disappearing Draught," Draco said easily, pulling a flask from an inside pocket. "I thought I might keep some handy today, just in case."

"Yeah—but—what about me?" Harry stammered. "You might be covered, but I—"

"Will be in my mouth, safe and sound," Draco replied. "Besides, we'll pick a table in a corner, just in case." He reached down, cupping Harry through his jeans, earning himself a moan. "Come on, Harry," he whispered, lips sliding over his ear. "We're so close, I could have you out and in heaven in no more than five seconds."

"Madame Pince," Harry managed, though Draco had started squeezing him gently and running his tongue down his ear, nibbling on his earlobe, rendering thought nearly impossible. "If she—"

"She won't know a thing," Draco breathed, sending chills through Harry. "You're too indecisive, and since I won the original bet dictating where we'd be snogging, I'm insisting. Here, let me walk in front of you, you wouldn't want the whole library knowing what's going on in your pants, now would you?" Harry managed a strangled negative and let Draco lead him into the library. Their hands were twined together and Draco walked only a few inches in front of him, blocking him from any but the most prying eyes.

Hogwarts is known for prying eyes, and they had no more stepped over the threshold than the two French girls appeared. Their names escaped Harry's mind completely, and he stepped closer to Draco, wrapping his arms around him, keeping their bodies flush. To anyone else it would appear as nothing more than a hug.

"Hello, Harry," the one on the right said. "We have missed you; you have not been in ze common room since you have been moved, yes?"

Harry had to work very hard to form a coherent though. "Er, yeah, no, I haven't been."

Identical frowns crossed their faces. "It is not proper, to be so far from your own house," the one on the left said. "In Beauxbatons it would not be tolerated, _particulièrement_ not a relationship with a—" She broke off, giving Draco a disdainful sneer.

Even from behind, Harry saw the dangerous look in Draco's eye. "What, my dear Charlotte Laurent, are you implying?" he asked. If he hadn't known Draco better he would have thought his tone pleasant and civilized, but he did, and he also saw how Draco's fingers hovered just above the pocket where he kept his wand. "Are you suggesting the unification of two houses unacceptable, or are you so naïve to render yourself a wreck over the Golden Boy dating _un homme_?"

Charlotte and her counterpart flushed. "Like I said," she replied, "such things are not tolerated at Beauxbatons."

"How very…old-school," Draco said, choosing his words carefully. "Regardless of what does or does not occur at your precious Beauxbatons, here at Hogwarts all are accepted, even immature, foolish _collet mont__é_ such as yourselves." Draco started to leave, then turned around at the last minute. "Oh, and if you ever dare to say anything like that again to myself, Harry, or anyone else in this school, I'll see to it you're sent back to France. And that list, the one you two have been keeping?" The girls immediately flushed bright red. "I'll personally owl that to Madame Maxime myself. See where that gets you, _putes_." He spat out the last word and swept away, leaving the girls staring after them in shock.

"What list?" Harry asked once they were out of earshot.

"They've been keeping a list of the most fuckable boys at Hogwarts," Draco said. "They've gotten about halfway through it so far, or so I've heard."

Harry gaped. "How do you even know that?"

"I make it my business to know everything," Draco replied. He led Harry over to the potions section and pulled out the book they were using this year. "Here, take this. You'll need something so it doesn't look like you're just staring off into space."

"Staring off—?" Harry flushed. "Right, that hadn't occurred to me."

"Now make clever use of that book so I can stop being your personal wall," Draco said, stepping away from Harry, giving him just enough time to position the book as if he just happened to be holding it that way before he started walking. "Come on, there's a table in the far corner that's always empty. We'll start you out slow; hiding in back corners while I'm invisible and slowly work up to blowjobs in the Great Hall in the middle of dinner."

Harry's flush darkened. "I am not—"

"Yes you are," Draco said lightly. "But not now, so put the thought out of your mind. Here," he said, arriving at the table. "Sit." He pushed down on Harry's shoulders, forcing him into the chair. "And at least open the book, Harry. If you manage to get some studying done, I'm clearly not doing my job correctly, but at least look like you are. Maybe flip a page every now and then." He sat gracefully in the chair opposite Harry's, smirking. "You're so cute, Potty, all flushed and nervous. Stop overthinking, just enjoy yourself. And really, open the damned book."

Harry opened the book and even read a few words. "_Heating solutions can be very dangerous, and should only be attempted by_—" Suddenly there were hands on his thighs, massaging through the fabric, every now and then coming up to brush against the bulge. Harry cleared his throat and glanced around. They seemed to be alone, yes, but at any minute someone could—

His mind went blank as nimble fingers undid his button, followed by the familiar sensation of Draco unzipping him with his teeth. It was one of Harry's favorite things about getting a blowjob; the initial breath against his still-covered cock, the anticipation of what was to come. Then he was deftly removed from his boxers and, before he could worry about anyone seeing anything, Draco engulfed him completely. His fingers tightened on the book, leaving tiny rips in their wake, and Harry had to bite his lip against a moan. Draco's hands were everywhere, sliding invisibly over his shirt, pinching at a nipple, gliding back down to his thighs, gently tickling his still-covered balls. It was all Harry could do not to make a sound.

And then Draco started moving his tongue in earnest, swirling it around him, tracing patterns, flattening and licking as hard as he could. Still, the ever-present sucking, completely unrelenting, and how he was continually swallowing, working the head of his cock with his throat, managing control over muscles Harry wasn't even sure he had. Ever so gently, Draco scraped his teeth along him, and Harry let out a shuddering moan.

Being careful to cover his cock completely with his invisible hands, Draco pulled off, and Harry whimpered. "You'll have to be more quiet than that," Draco whispered. "What if someone had been passing by? How would you explain why heating solutions make you moan as if, I don't know, somebody was pleasuring you under the table?"

Harry let out a long, quiet sigh, trying to release some of the tension Draco had built up. "I don't know what you're talking about," Harry whispered back. "I'm just reading about potions."

"You better be," Draco replied. Then he went back to work, Harry once again sheathed in the wet warmth of his mouth, once again at the mercy of his lips and tongue and teeth and hands, hands that could go anywhere because they were invisible. At least he was sitting, and there wasn't any way Draco could go anywhere near his arse.

Harry forced his eyes back to the book, trying to arrange his face in a way that expressed boredom but resolution. He turned the page, nearly ripping it out of the book entirely as Draco squeezed his balls. This was getting to be too much, was in fact already too much, and it had to stop, now, before Harry did something he'd regret.

"Draco," he murmured, slipping one hand beneath the table to tangle in his hair, attempting to pull him up. "Dray, stop, seriously, I—_ohh_—you've got to stop." Draco knocked his hand away and shook his head, a movement that shot all the way through Harry. He ground his teeth and let his eyes slip shut, as if he had a choice. He tried again to tug Draco up and was met with a much more forceful slap to his hand. "Draco," he sighed. "Please."

Draco took this as encouragement. He moved faster, sucking harder, doing the most incredible things with his tongue. Harry leaned his head in his hands, elbows on the table, still under the pretense of reading the book. At least now he could dig his fingers into something without ruining school property, though he supposed he might get some questions as to why there were nail marks all over his forehead. He closed his eyes again, hoping he looked deep in thought, or at least bored, and not like he was anywhere close to orgasm, because that would be ridiculous.

At least it seemed he had found a reasonable position; he could focus entirely on what Draco was doing without being obvious. All he had to do was work to keep his breathing even, to make sure nothing escaped his lips beyond a bored or sleepy sigh, to keep his hips from bucking up against Draco. That was all. Stay completely quiet and completely still. No problem.

Draco slid him partway out of his mouth, covering the exposed skin with his hands, squeezing and caressing the overly sensitized flesh. He could tongue Harry properly this way, tracing circles over his head, licking away the pre-come seeping from his slit. He was close, so close, all he needed was for Draco to—

"Harry!"

He jumped. It took every ounce of strength he had but he managed to relax his face into something approaching normal as he turned to see those two blasted French girls standing before him again. Draco didn't stop, didn't even slow down.

"Wh-what?" he stammered. He cleared his throat. "What do you two want?"

The one he was pretty sure was Charlotte said, "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

"He, uh, went to the bathroom," Harry said. The sentence took every available brain cell, all three of them. "Why?"

She glared at him. "We have ze message for him, please. Tell him I said—" She broke off into a string of French that flew over Harry's head.

"Look," he said, stopping her mid-rant. "I'll tell him you came by, how's that? I've got all this left to read," he said, flipping randomly through the potions book, "and I don't speak French." Draco was absolutely, impossibly brilliant, holding nothing back, and Harry could barely breathe, let alone focus on the girls standing in front of him.

"Maybe we should wait for him here, yes?" the other one said. "So we do not miss him again?"

"_No_," Harry said rather loudly. The girls raised their eyebrows, and Harry cursed himself. And Draco, who was doing that thing he loved, the thing he had no resistance against. "No," he said, a little more quietly. "I've got to study. Go off." Every muscle in his body was clenched, focused on holding himself back, not willing to come while these two girls were watching. He had no idea how well he'd be able to hide what was about to happen, but even if he had the best poker face in the world, he was _not_ going to have these girls anywhere near him during that final act. "Seriously," he said. "Go away."

They frowned at him. "Fine," the one who was probably Charlotte said. "But we will not forget—"

"Yeah, yeah, French, ranting at Draco, I got it," Harry said, turning back to the potions book. He watched them disappear out of the corner of his eye and let out a huge sigh, resuming his previous position and digging his fingers into his head. He could have sworn he heard Draco laugh around him, but he was far beyond caring. Right now it was all he could do to keep quiet, to keep from completely losing it.

And then he was gone, closing his eyes and grinding his teeth together, turning bright red as he dug crescent-shaped marks into himself. Draco was still sucking him, taking everything he had, and it felt so _fucking_ good and there was nothing he could do about it other than sit there and feel as he emptied himself into Draco, as Draco carefully cleaned him afterwards before tucking him back into his boxers and zipping and buttoning him up. Harry still didn't trust himself to move or talk when Draco suddenly appeared before him, sitting in the other chair, a smug look on his face.

"That was brilliant," Draco drawled. "I couldn't have planned it better myself, with Violette and Charlotte showing up at that _particular_ moment. Harry, really, it was priceless." Harry regained enough of himself to throw the potions book at Draco, who caught it deftly and set it back down on the table. "Don't worry, you'll see the humor in the situation once you can breathe again."

Harry glared at him. "You—" He had to stop himself as his voice came out a breathy moan.

Draco smirked. "Can't even talk, can you? I suppose we should wait to return to our room until you can walk again; I don't fancy carrying you the whole way." Harry pointed threateningly at Draco, but that was all he could manage. Draco's smirk softened into a genuinely amused smile. "Harry, you're so bloody adorable I can't even stand it. All hot and bothered, past coherent thought, and I'm not even touching you. Go ahead, take as long as you need to recover. I'll review our potion for tomorrow." He opened the book and began casually flipping through the pages as Harry recuperated.

"You," he said again, and this time he sounded much more like himself. Draco looked up from the book with a raised eyebrow.

"Me?" he asked. "What about me, darling?"

"You," Harry repeated, "are impossible. Let's get out of here before those damned French girls come back." They stood, and Draco gracefully wrapped an arm around Harry's.

"You were brilliant," he whispered, lips once again sliding over Harry's ear. "Really, Harry, that was incredible. I've hardly seen you in better form and, really, I could barely see you at all, so that's saying something." He continued to talk like this all the way back to their room, and by the time Harry was once again seated on the couch with his Muggle Studies paper in front of him, he was no more capable of studying than he had been before they left.

"Did you go to the Owlery?" Aurora asked mockingly.

"Harry did," Draco said. "Rather, I took him there."

"_Enough_," Hermione said firmly. "I am sick to death of hearing you two talk like this, especially when neither of you have finished your homework. It's nearly dinner, and I don't see a single completed essay between the three of you. Stop bloody teasing each other and get to work, would you?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "The perils of studying with Hermione."


	38. Chapter 38: Even Fussier and More

**A/N: **Hey! So I do have time to publish today! My friend is checking into her flight on her computer and I'm using the time as nerdily as I possibly can, of course.

As far as I remember, this chapter is silly and a little fluffy and veeeeery slightly Draco!OOC but only a little, and if you close your eyes and squint, not at all. Just go with the explanations I've given you, yes?

I don't have time to do a last-minute read-through, so I'm just going to trust that all is well and, if you see extra typos, I trust that you will not hate me forever.

Another note about times I may not be able to publish: Friday and Sunday might go up at weird times, either earlier or later than usual, but I'm not sure about Saturday at all. I'll be at New York Sheep and Wool Festival (ALL the yarn! ALL the sheep! :D) and I don't know if my hotel will have wireless or not, nor am I sure when I'll be returning to it.

And, for those curious, last night I finished chapter fifty-one, thus ending the holiday break. I'm halfway through fifty-two, though I pretty much definitely won't have the chance to write today, so I won't finish it until tomorrow. But still, guys, ALL the chapters. It's pretty exciting.

Anyway, enough rambling! Enjoy!

**Chapter Thirty-Eight:**

_**Even Fussier and More Presumptuous Than Usual**_

The first weekend of December brought with it the first snowfall of the season. There was the traditional snowball fight lasting from breakfast through lunch, and though Draco refused to participate, he did sit with Harry behind the fort he had made, reading from a Nicholas Skye book that had been enchanted waterproof. He only took one bad hit, and no amount of yelling or threatening could get Harry to tell him it had been Ron.

After lunch they went to Hogsmeade, and Harry was proud to say he only tripped over his own feet once. Draco looked positively incredible; his black robes setting off his pale skin that had just a touch of a flush from the cold air, the snowflakes that landed gently in his hair. It wasn't fair that anybody was allowed to look that good, Harry thought, but he kept his mouth shut and forced his eyes forward after nearly tripping a second time. Neville and Aurora were just in front of them, and Harry could see for himself how silly he and Draco had looked; Neville couldn't keep his eyes off Aurora and so she had taken his arm, attempting to keep him upright.

"Sickening, isn't it?" Draco asked quietly. "Such ridiculous displays of—"

"I don't know," Luna interrupted, coming up to walk next to Draco. "Harry was looking at you much the same way, and you didn't complain then."

Draco flushed slightly. "He was not," he said snippily. "He—we have _decorum_. Not that rubbish." He gestured as Aurora leaned up for a quick kiss.

"You may not have kissed Harry," Luna continued, "but you are holding hands, and you did sit with him during the snowball fight, even though you yourself were not partaking. A shame, I think; my favorite part of winter is frolicking in the snow."

Harry glanced at Draco, trying to hold back a smile. "Face it, Dray, we're just as sickening as the rest of them."

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but they passed through the gates of Hogsmeade, and Hermione took charge of the situation.

"Right, then, I expect we should break off into groups," she said. "Luna, Aurora and I can go to Miss Rana's Dressrobes, and you boys can go to Salugum's."

Ron flushed. "Er, 'Mione," he said quietly. "I don't think I can afford—"

"It's your last year at Hogwarts, Ron," Hermione said. "Your very last Yule Ball. You don't want to show up in that frilly disaster, do you?"

Ron squirmed. "Well, no, but—"

"It's alright, I can't afford it, either," Neville said. "We'll just go to Gladrags."

"I won't have it," Draco said definitively. "Our Head Boys will not be seen in anything but the finest robes." Instantaneous silence fell on the group, all eyes on Draco. "What? I don't see—" He immediately flushed. "_Your_ Head Boys," he corrected himself. "Gryffindor's. I meant our only in the larger sense, of the whole school."

Ron broke into a grin. "No, you did not, you meant _your_ Head Boys," he said. "Because _you_ think of yourself as a Gryffindor."

Draco rose up to his full height. "I would never consent to be placed in such a horrid house," he said tightly. "Besides, _Ronald_, I was offering to buy you proper robes; surely you can get through that without insulting the fine name of Salazar Slytherin?"

Aurora kicked a small bit of snow, smiling coyly. "Draco, you did say—"

"_I did not!_" Draco yelled. He cleared his throat. "But fine, if you and Longbottom want to spend the evening looking like second hand Muggle disasters from centuries ago, be my guest. Harry and I will be found at Salugum's and nowhere else."

"Why're you offering in the first place?" Ron asked suspiciously. "Since when do you care about anyone else?"

Draco sighed dramatically. "Head Boys and Head Girls get the first dance," he explained, as if to a child. "I thought I'd do you a favor, out of the kindness of my heart. No matter how many galleons I spend you'll never look as good as your Slytherin counterparts, but—"

"I thought Blaise and Pansy were Head Boy and Girl," Luna said. "And they're banned from the Ball, are they not?"

Draco's hands formed into fists, clenched at his sides. "Well then. You—you just—_you're my friends and I don't want you to go looking bloody ridiculous, alright_?" he burst out.

Again, silence, all eyes on him.

"I reckon that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Ron said, sounding a bit awed. "Alright, if you want to blow your entire fortune on robes I'll wear once that'll spend the rest of their lives collecting dust in the back of my closet, be my guest."

Neville shifted awkwardly. "I don't think Gran would like it if I took a handout like that."

"It's not a handout," Aurora said. "It's dressing up for your girlfriend, okay? I can't imagine how handsome you'd look if you got all dolled up."

Neville blushed. "Well—I suppose, alright."

Aurora smiled and kissed his cheek. "Of course, I'd be happy to go with you no matter what you wear, but I like the idea of you in fancy robes."

"Now that that's settled," Hermione said, "shall we meet at the Three Broomsticks for dinner?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "If I can get these two presentable by then."

"Don't ruin a nice thing by being an asshole," she admonished. "We'll see you boys later and Ron, make sure to tell me if Draco is anything other than pleasant and helpful."

Draco ground his teeth and Ron smirked. "'Course, Mione. See you later."

Harry did not find shopping with Draco to be a pleasant experience. It was one thing when they were at Dervish and Bangs, or Zonko's Joke Shop, but when it came to Draco and clothes, he became unreasonable the moment they set foot in the shop. He demanded to speak only to somebody named Avis and seemed positively infuriated when told she was spending the weekend in Devonshire with her family. He refused help from anybody else, storming around the shop and pulling out robes seemingly at random. Harry, Ron and Neville started towards a rack of what looked like perfectly acceptable robes and Draco immediately pulled them away, lecturing them about something Harry didn't catch at all. So the three boys stood in the middle of the room in silence, feeling very awkward, feeling the occasional glance of pity from the shopkeepers.

Eventually Draco returned to them, looking considerably calmer. A lock of hair managed to fall free and was hanging in his face, and Harry brushed it away absently, causing Draco to turn on him first.

"Here," he said. "Take these." It wasn't as bad as Harry expected; there were only three robes, though as far as Harry could tell, they looked identical. All that same dark jade Draco insisted looked so good on him, all formal. "I'm not sure which will suit you best, so make sure to show me each one."

He moved on to Neville. "These are for you," Draco said, again handing him a small pile. "There's not much for someone as tall as you, so I'm afraid you'll have to make do.

"And Weasley," he continued, handing him a stack significantly larger than Harry's or Neville's. "I haven't the slightest idea how to make you look presentable; I nearly had to take one of everything they've got in stock."

Draco was left holding a single robe for himself, and he summoned over one of the girls working that day. "I'll be taking these," he said. "You can go off now; I daresay my assistance and expertise far outranks your own."

The poor girl flushed. "You wouldn't like to try it on first?" she squeaked. "Just to make sure—?"

Draco's eyes flashed. "I'm always sure. Now go away." She ran off, and Draco shepherded the boys over to the fitting rooms. "Here. Make sure to show me everything; I don't trust you to make your own decisions. Especially you, Weasel."

"I'll tell Hermione on you," Ron said, disappearing into one of the rooms.

"I'm being made to dress, and pay for, each and every one of you, and my beloved Avis is on bloody holiday, and _my_ house will be unrepresented at the Ball, and I will call you whatever I wish," Draco snapped.

Harry chose to ignore his rants and hung the three robes on the rack provided. After a careful inspection, he could see they were not, in fact, identical. One had silver seaming, which was an automatic no; he'd not have Draco dressing him in Slytherin colors, no matter how subtle they were. The other two were just slightly different shades; Harry could barely see the difference between them, and for all intensive purposes they were identical. Still, he pulled one on, and opened the door for inspection.

Draco looked at him shrewdly. "I see the silver stitching on the Fantaisie piece did not escape your detection. Go get the other one, would you? Just hold it up next to your face, don't take this one off, I want to see how the colors look on you." Harry grabbed the robe and stepped out just in time to see Ron emerge from his stall.

"Absolutely not," Draco said immediately. "Go back, try the next one."

"I dunno, I think it looks good," Harry said defensively. "Ron, that blue's great on you."

"No it isn't, stop being a dolt. Weasley, get out of that thing before somebody sees you." Ron returned to his stall, grumbling. Draco turned to Harry, taking hold of his chin, tilting his head this way and that. "The darker one," he said eventually. "The one you're holding, that's what you'll be wearing." He took out his wand and hovered the robes over to the counter.

"Glad to see I've got some say in this," Harry muttered under his breath, going back to change into his regular clothes. He came out and stood next to Draco, who wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek.

"Really, my dear, you'll look incredible," he said softly. "We'll be the talk of the Ball."

Harry couldn't help smiling. It was always like this; just when Draco was getting to be his most insufferable, he was suddenly incredibly sweet and attentive.

"_Longbottom_!" he snapped, and Harry jerked away. "Why haven't I seen you in anything yet?"

"They're all too short!" Neville replied. "I've got one left, maybe that'll work."

Draco turned back to Harry, taking both his hands. "Perhaps you would rather wait for me by the front of the store?" he asked kindly. "There's a couch for your convenience."

Harry spared a glance at Ron's stall. He didn't want to leave his best friend alone with Draco, not when he was being like this, but the prospect of not having to listen to his ranting was appealing.

Just as he was about to reply, Neville stepped out of his stall, wearing deep violet robes. He was still fussing with them, but Harry thought he looked excellent, far more put together than he had ever seen him before. Draco swatted Neville's hands down, spent a few quiet moments evaluating, then nodded.

"That'll do. Longbottom, once you're done changing, go join Harry at the front of the store, would you? I have a feeling Weasley will require all of my attention, no doubt indefinitely."

"Yeah, alright then," Neville said, disappearing back into his stall. "Thanks again, Draco. You really didn't have to do this."

"I won't be seen with the school's worst dressed all evening," Draco said, though Harry thought the corners of his lips were turned up ever so slightly. He kissed Harry's cheek again, then lightly patted his arse. "Go on, I'll be up as soon as I'm done with the Weasel."

Harry swatted his arm but sat on the couch, Neville joining him a few moments later.

"He's a bit intense, isn't he?" Neville said. "About clothes, I mean."

"Yeah, apparently so," Harry replied. "Any idea if it'll be you or Ron taking the Head Boy dance?" It was well known, even amongst the staff members, that Neville had kept his position, and nobody seemed inclined to tell him off.

Neville shrugged. "Probably Ron. It wouldn't look right if it was me, y'know? Got to keep up appearances and all." Neville shivered. "Merlin, I hope it's not me. I can't dance to save my life."

"Yeah, me neither. Wonder if McGonagall will choose two Slytherins to make up for Zabini and Parkinson."

"That'd be, what you and Draco?" Neville asked. "You two or a set of first years, I imagine. Hallowe'en wiped out pretty much all the upperclassmen."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I don't fancy leading the first dance, not again." He listened closely; the beginnings of a full-on shouting match were emerging from the fitting rooms. He sighed. "I ought to go make sure they don't hex each other," he said wearily. "I'll be back." Harry diffused the fight as best he could, including nicking both Ron and Draco's wands while they were distracted yelling at each other. Ron was in some terrible red thing that he kept insisting made him look dashing while Draco yelled that he looked like a bloody fireplace. Harry returned to the couch, wands in hand.

"So what're you doing for the holidays?" Neville asked. "The sign-up sheet for staying is going out Monday, you know."

Harry jerked; he had not known, nor had any plans occurred to him. "Er, I imagine I'll be staying here," he said. "Staying at Grimmauld Place by myself was bad enough over the summer, let alone on Christmas."

Neville raised his eyebrows. "You and Draco have been living together, and you haven't figured out where you'll be holidaying?"

Harry flushed. "I assumed he'd be going home; he doesn't usually stay, I don't think."

"But he hasn't invited you or anything?" Harry shook his head. "Huh."

Harry suddenly felt very defensive and, ignoring the twisting in his stomach, said, "I'm sure it just hasn't occurred to him yet. I hadn't planned anything out. Maybe he was waiting for me to ask him."

"Yes, Draco is certainly the passive type," Neville said coyly.

"Anyway, what about you?" Harry asked a bit angrily. "Suppose you and Aurora are spending the holidays together?"

Neville smiled shyly. "Well, yes. We're going to her house for the first week, then back to Gran's for Christmas and New Year's."

"Cross-continental apparition?" Harry mused. "Sure you're up to that?"

Neville flushed. "Er, well, her mom is picking us up at Hogsmeade, and we're going Side-Along."

"Right then." Now that Neville had planted the idea in his head, it did seem rather odd that Draco hadn't brought up the holidays. Was he planning on going back to the Manor without him? Did he just assume Harry was staying with the Weasleys? That was certainly not the case; he had already promised to join them on Christmas morning as per tradition, but he had no intention of spending the whole holiday stuck with Ginny, who he hadn't spoken to since first week, or an increasingly affectionate Ron and Hermione.

"And," Neville said quietly after a few minutes, "Gran and I are going to take her to meet my parents on Boxing Day. It'll be…well, I don't know how it'll be, but I figure she deserves to meet them. Especially since, y'know, Hallowe'en."

Harry was broken out of his thoughts. "That's—that's really sweet, Neville. And brave. I'm glad you two are getting on so well."

Neville blushed again. "I hate it when people call me brave. But thanks, mate. I was half-convinced the idea was utterly mad. It's good to have some validation."

"No, it's not mad at all," Harry said, heart clenching. He could take Draco to Godric's Hollow but really, what was the point? Showing him an empty, burned out house? A gravestone? Spending Christmas crying over his dead parents? "It's brilliant. Really." He looked over to the fitting rooms, but several racks of cloaks blocked his view.

"I still can't decide what to get her, though," Neville said. Harry couldn't tell if Neville knew he was upset and was trying to distract him, or if he was just utterly oblivious. "Is jewelry too obvious? I feel like it is."

Harry also had not considered what he'd be getting for Draco. "I dunno," he said. "Aurora likes girl things, sometimes."

"I was also thinking about some obscure potion ingredient, but most of those are only available on the black market, and I'm not—just no, y'know?"

Harry nodded absentmindedly, running through the list of shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. What on earth could he get for Draco, who already had everything, and the money to buy whatever struck his fancy? His house was filled with priceless antiques, original paintings from hundreds of years ago, ancient artifacts that probably weren't strictly legal. How was he supposed to compete with that?

"_Ronald Weasley take that horrid thing off this instant before I charm it off you!"_ Draco's voice rang through the shop. Silence, and then, "_Where is my wand! Harry!"_

Harry shifted guiltily in his seat, but Draco didn't come over, which he considered a good sign. That, or Draco had snapped and was manhandling Ron. Even if that was the case, Ron was quite a bit stronger than Draco, and he could take care of himself.

"Harry, don't worry," Neville said. "You'll figure it out. You're not nearly as hopeless as I am."

Harry smiled wanly. Neville had known, then. "Er, thanks."

Finally, Draco and Ron appeared, both angry and flushed. Draco had a set of robes clutched in his arms, which Ron was scowling at. "Go," Draco said shortly. "Sit there. With them. I'll pay and then we can finally get out of here."

Ron collapsed on the couch between Harry and Neville. He turned to Harry. "Your boyfriend is _impossible_."

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," Harry said. "What're you and Hermione doing for the holidays?"

"Uh, spending the first week in London with her family, then back to the Burrow for the second week. My whole family'll be there; Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, they're all coming home." He sighed and looked away. "Mum think's it'll be easier on George, the more of us there are. You're still coming for Christmas morning, yeah?"

"Course," Harry replied.

"What're you and Draco doing, then?" Ron asked, looking back at him. "Vacationing in the south of France, I imagine? Or skiing in the Alps? Maybe a cruise around the world?"

Harry smacked his arm. "No, we're not." Then he paused. "Well, er, I don't actually know, but probably not. Your dad works for the Ministry; have the Malfoys got any property other than the manor?"

Ron gave him a look. "Yeah, a house in the south of France and a ski lodge in the Alps, like I said. You haven't made plans yet?"

"It's only the first of the month!" Harry said defensively. "We've got a whole, what, two weeks left?" The reality of how soon vacation started crashed down on him. "And the list for who's staying doesn't go up until Monday, Neville said so. There's plenty of time."

Draco appeared in front of them, empty-handed. "I've had your robes sent back to Hogwarts so you don't need to drag them around the streets of Hogsmeade." He paused, looking at Harry. "What's wrong with you?"

"It's nothing," Harry said. "Let's go."

"He wants to know what you're doing for the holidays," Ron said, still reclining on the couch. "He's got his knickers in a knot over it. _What if Draco doesn't want to spend Christmas with me? What if he's been purposefully avoiding the subject? Why hasn't he brought it up before_?"

Harry glared at him. "I didn't say anything like that," he snapped. "Just because—"

"Oh come off it Harry, it's written all over your face." Ron seemed to be taking a sick sort of glee in the situation, no doubt caused by his fighting with Draco over robes. "You're just a little girl, too scared to ask her boyfriend out for Christmas dinner."

"Lunch, actually," Draco said smoothly. "Lunch at the Manor on Christmas Eve, then presents under the tree, all very proper. Usually we have a Gala, but Mother thought perhaps not this year. New Year's in the Alps; my family does not partake in any Muggle sports so we shan't be skiing, but the view is lovely, and we'll take our horses and go flying. But we'll be going straight to France from school and spend the week before Christmas just the two of us; Mother has her own engagements to attend to, and she has released me from my yearly duties to spend time with you."

Harry stared at him. "You—why didn't you tell me?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did it really need to be said? What else would I do, send you back to that dreadful Grimmauld Place to spend the holidays with that godforsaken house elf? Or leave you here at Hogwarts to mope the whole break? Of course you'll be with me."

"Well what if I had plans already?" Harry asked defensively. "I have, in fact. Christmas morning with the Weasleys."

Draco frowned lightly. "No, no Christmas morning at the Manor with Mother. And don't argue with me, Potter; with Father—away, I will not leave her all alone on Christmas."

Harry glanced helplessly at Ron. "But I've got—I always go to the Weasleys, I don't—"

"Come for lunch, then," Ron said begrudgingly. "Mum would kill me if she heard you leaving even a Malfoy alone and abandoned Christmas morning."

"I—okay," Harry stammered.

"No," Draco said again, face clouding over. "Not lunch. Dinner."

Harry turned to face him. "I don't have any say in my holidays, then?"

Draco gave him a look, the one that said if he pressed it he'd end up spending the next week in the infirmary. Generally, these looks were reserved for issues involving his father. "Dinner," he said firmly.

Ron shrugged. "It's all the same to us. You'll miss presents, but I doubt Mum will mind having a second go at it. Everyone's staying until at least Boxing Day, so whenever." There was an awkward silence, and then eventually Ron understood the look Harry was giving him. "And yeah, go ahead, bring the git. I'm sure having Christmas with a Malfoy will be an utter joy for all."

"Thank you for the invitation," Draco said stiffly. "We will arrive mid-afternoon, I believe. I should think around three or so, perhaps four."

Harry threw his hands in the air. "Neville, want to have a crack at my holidays? Have you and Aurora been conspiring behind my back to take me to Wisconsin? And I assume Luna's in on this as well."

"Harry, really, don't be so dramatic," Draco said haughtily. "I assume you knew you'd be with me." He actually looked a little hurt. "I'm a bit miffed you didn't make the same assumption. What would I do if I didn't wake up with you Christmas morning?"

Harry found himself quite suddenly near tears, and cursed himself. "I don't—I don't know," he stammered. He didn't add how incredibly sweet that sounded, or how much it touched him that Draco was upset at the thought of not spending the holidays together. Not in front of Ron and Neville, at least.

Draco rested a hand on his lower back and pulled him in for a sweet, chaste kiss. "Of _course_ you'll be with me," he said softly. Then louder: "Come on, shall we depart for the Three Broomsticks? I daresay Weasley's indecisiveness regarding his robes has outlasted even the fussiest girl."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, and Harry stepped on his foot. The last thing he wanted was for his moment to be spoiled, even if it was his and his alone.

Neville stood, and Ron followed suit. "Right then, let's go."

Dinner was very good; everyone was in high spirits over the Yule Ball, including Luna, who was planning on going by herself. They stayed until curfew dictated they leave, and Draco and Harry quickly fell behind the rest of the group. Rather, they were holding hands and Draco kept slowing until he and Harry were out of earshot from everyone else.

"Harry," he said quietly, stopping to face him. Draco smiled. "Harry, you've got snow in your hair." He brushed it away and, though he knew it was a losing fight, attempted to smooth his hair.

"It is snowing, Draco," Harry said, also with a bit of a smile. "It's also cold; care to tell me why we're going to freeze and get points docked for staying out past curfew?"

Draco leaned down and kissed him, hands going to the side of his face, the warmth of his mouth a delicious contrast with the snow. He was slow and thorough, not letting go until Harry's knees were weak and he had to lean against Draco to continue to stand. It was one of Draco's favorite things to do, robbing him of the ability to stand, and Harry had long ago stopped caring.

"I've been looking forward to Christmas with you for seven years," Draco said quietly, leaning his forehead on Harry's. "How could you think we wouldn't be together?"

Harry flushed. "I dunno, I wasn't thinking. Neville just brought it up, and you and I hadn't talked about it, and—"

Draco silenced him with a kiss. "I apologize if I was too demanding of you; if you have Christmas traditions of your own, I'm sure we can fit them in."

Harry smiled. It wasn't often Draco apologized for anything, and it only made the words more special. "No, I haven't got any, just Christmas day with the Weasleys."

Draco's nose wrinkled. "I am sure I will be welcome with open arms," he said stiffly. "But I will go, for you."

"And what exactly did you mean by taking the horses flying?" Harry asked, a bit nervously. "Have you got Thestrals, then?"

Draco smiled. "There's more than one type of winged horse, dear. I've got a Granian, Father's is an Abraxan and Mother's an Aethonan. Mother and I are both bringing our horses; you and I can share mine, I don't think Father would take kindly to you borrowing Vis."

"Let me make sure I've got this straight," Harry said slowly. "First a week in the south of France, just the two of us, then Christmas Eve and morning at Malfoy Manor, the Weasley's for dinner, and the Alps for the rest of vacation?"

Draco's smile widened. "Perfect."

"So what're we doing Christmas afternoon?" Harry asked. "Another luncheon with your mum?"

Draco's eyes clouded over. "No. I suppose I shouldn't have committed you to that particular excursion; if you'd like to go ahead to the Weasleys, I can meet you there afterwards."

"That depends on what you're doing," Harry said, again a bit nervous.

"Mother and I are visiting Father," Draco said quietly. "Azkaban's got special rules on Christmas; he cannot leave his cell, nor can we bring him any gifts, but we're granted an hour's time with him, from one until two. You haven't got to come if you'd rather not."

Harry searched Draco's eyes. "Do you want me to?"

He squeezed Harry's hands. "Of course I do," he said even more quietly. "I've even had Mother talk to Father about it—we've still got enough connections to get a message or two inside—and your presence would not be objected to."

"Alright then," Harry said. "If you're sure your dad won't mind, I'll come."

Draco pulled him into a tight hug.

"Watch yourselves, boys," McGonagall said, causing them to jerk apart. She was coming back from Hogsmeade as well, and seemed in a good enough mood. "I'd hate to take points away for inappropriate behavior, or a breach of curfew."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said quickly, working to fall behind her while still moving at a decent pace towards the castle. "Actually, Professor, I've got a question for you, if that's alright," he said, hurrying to her side, pulling Draco along with him."

She looked down at him. "Go ahead, Potter."

"Well, Neville and I were talking, and we were wondering if he'd be allowed to be part of the first dance at the Ball, even though he's not technically Head Boy anymore."

McGonagall frowned. "He shouldn't be, no," she said. "But perhaps an exception may be made." Harry's jaw nearly dropped; apparently she was in a very good mood indeed. Or had had a bit too much to drink, either one.

"And, about my house," Draco started.

"That has already been discussed," she said. "Horace and I have decided you may take the place of your defunct Head Boy and Girl, for that night only."

Draco glanced at Harry, who shrugged. "That would be fine," he said. "Thank you."

She waved a hand, and yes, Harry thought she might have had a touch too much to drink. "Now go ahead. If you arrive on grounds after I do, I won't be able to forgive you for having broken curfew."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry said, quickening his pace, slowing only once McGonagall was significantly behind them. Draco was smirking.

"See?" he said. "You should be glad about all of my fussing over your robes. It's looking like all four of us will be in that first dance. Don't you want to look handsome for it?"

"I suppose," Harry said. "I'm not thrilled to be in the limelight again, especially while dancing, so I guess having the best dress robes possible is a good step."

"You dance perfectly, as long as you let me lead," Draco said. He broke into a grin. "I was so jealous of you fourth year. Well, I suppose I was more jealous of that Patil girl you took with you, who got to dance with you, but still, having all those eyes on you." He sighed happily. "I suppose you could say you're making my dreams come true, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're bloody ridiculous."


	39. Chapter 39: Shells and Pits

**A/N:** First off, sorry about the late posting today! I had a reeeeally stressful night last night and I didn't get to sleep until around five-thirty and I had to take my PRNs (extra anxiety medication) and then I slept forever and I didn't want to get out of bed and now it's six-thirty. Whoops.

Some more accidents: Apparently my brain did a weird thing and told me there are Head Boys and Girls for each house, rather than one of each. Um. Whoops. I have no excuse for such nonsense; I just had a brain fart, and it's too complicated to fix now, so let's just all ignore it, yes? Yes.

A note about Hermione's parents: I spend a _lot_ of time crying every time I see or read about Hermione Obliviating her parents' minds and so, in my HP world, once the war was over she undid the charm. I'm pretty sure that's not canon-ly possible, but I _refuse_ to entertain any other notion. It's just too sad, and I won't hear another word on it. And woe be the one who is watching Deathly Hallows with me when it happens; tears. Tears for_ever_.

**Chapter Thirty-Nine:**

_**Shells and Pits**_

_Harry sat on the water in the middle of the Black Lake, cross-legged. He was fully clothed and there was a heavy weight on his chest. It was cold and heart wrenching and it scared him. It must be the Horcrux then, right? Ron had never destroyed it and he was still wearing it now, searching for a way to kill it._

_Harry looked down. No, it was not the Horcrux. It was a crest, the Malfoy crest. He tried to pick it up but found it too heavy to move. How could he be floating on the water if it was so heavy?_

_The thought broke the spell and he descended into the lake. He couldn't breathe, nor could he move, and a strange calmness swept over him. If he was going to die like this, there was certainly nothing he could do about it._

_Then, just as he thought he was going to pass out, he reached the bottom of the lake and continued to sink through the silt, then through solid dirt, which continued to push the little air that remained out of his lungs. He couldn't see anything; there wasn't any light here in the ground. He reached for his wand but it wasn't there._

_And then, quite suddenly, he passed through the ceiling of a building and collapsed onto the floor, heaving great gasps. He didn't have the strength to look around him, his only concern was once again filling his lungs with air. He was on his hands and knees and all he could register was the cold air in his lungs, abnormally cold, and the feel of concrete beneath his hands and knees._

_He looked up and saw bars in front of him. He couldn't tell which side he was on, not yet, but he was pretty certain he was in Azkaban. A figure huddled on the other side of the bars, shrunken and black, pushed into a corner of his cell. Harry was looking into a cell, then, not in one himself._

_The pull of the crest had weakened, enough that he wasn't being pulled through the floor anymore, but he still couldn't sit up or move out of his position, only turn his head. A cloak rustled and Harry turned to it, but all he could see was the bottom of faded black robes and the tips of shoes poking out from beneath them._

"_My Lucius," the voice sighed. Narcissa Malfoy._

_The creature in the corner didn't stir at all, didn't seem to hear her words._

"_Lucius, please, look at me."_

_The man looked up and there was just enough light for Harry to see his face. He screamed. His eyes were gone, replaced with deep, dark, emotionless pits, and he was so pale Harry could see the blood moving beneath his veins. Everything that made him Lucius Malfoy, everything that made him human was gone._

_The Kiss._

_Narcissa sighed again. "Oh, my love. Come here."_

_Harry wanted to scream no, to keep the Lucius-shell as far away as he could be, but it stood and ambled forward, feet shuffling dimly on the concrete floor. Harry still couldn't look up, could only stare at the thing's shins. They were hidden behind torn robes, but he could see how thin his legs had gotten through the tears in the fabric, how little of him remained._

_Someone appeared on his left, and Harry looked over, thankful to see anything other than the Lucius-shell. More black robes, polished dress shoes showing beneath the cloak. Draco, he thought._

"_Father," he said softly. "Father, what have they done to you?"_

_Nobody acknowledged Harry's presence, and he thought he might be in a Pensieve. So this had already happened, then? It was too late to do anything other than watch the people around him._

_Just as he reached that conclusion, the Lucius-shell sunk to his level, the black eye-pits staring into Harry's eyes. Harry had to bite back another scream; it was so much worse this close. There wasn't even a glint of reflection in the eye-pits, only absolute nothingness. He could see individual blood cells flowing through its veins, somehow continuing to move even though the host was clearly beyond such things. His hair was greyed and matted, falling in a tangled mess to frame his face._

"_Harry Potter," it gasped, and Harry did scream again. He couldn't help it. The voice was so many voices, every voice of every witch and wizard who had ever been Kissed, layered within this single Lucius-shell. "They're coming for you," it croaked. "Won't you stay? It's so cold, even when the sun shines. Join me, Harry Potter."_

_Harry shook his head violently, trying to back up, finding his hands and knees glued to the floor. "No," he said. "I'm not dead, I haven't been Kissed, I won't."_

"_But you will be," the Lucius-shell said. "They're coming."_

_A shadow fell over Harry and the Lucius-shell scrambled back to its corner, falling back into darkness._

_Harry was hoisted to his feet and spun around. A Dementor was holding him, his feet dangling far above the floor, rendering escape impossible. Its hood fell back and Harry saw the grey, decaying skin, the giant hole where its mouth was._

"_Draco," Harry croaked. The Dementor started to inhale, and Harry could barely speak. Everything was being sucked out of him, replaced with a cold nothingness. "Draco," he managed. "Patronus. Please."_

"_No." Draco's voice came from far away, so far Harry could barely hear him. "You put my father here, you will join him. Together you can rot in hell."_

"_No," Harry echoed. He could see the word sucked into the Dementor._

_The scene around him faded. He was collapsed on the ground at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower, cradling Dumbledore, crying hysterically, unaware of the hand resting on his shoulder, trying to pull him away._

"_Harry."_

_He looked up. The Lucius-shell sat on Dumbledore's other side, its eye-pits staring at Harry._

"_What?" Harry gasped through his tears. "What do you want? You're not supposed to be here."_

"_Of course I am," it said. "We're here together, forever."_

_Harry shook his head. "No, no I can't stay with Dumbledore forever, not when he's dead, I'll go crazy."_

"_I know," it said. "It's not so bad, once you're gone."_

_The scene around him faded. He stood and watched as Sirius fell back into the Veil. The Lucius-shell stood at his side, the real Lucius only a few feet away. The doubling sensation was almost enough to cut through the pain. Almost. The Lucius-shell put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and he screamed again. His skin was cold, rotten, had the consistency of a rotten tomato._

"_One of my sister-in-law's finest moments," it said. "We cannot linger here, no matter how painful it is for you. If a memory brings one of us pleasure, we aren't allowed."_

_The scene around him faded. Harry stood in the basement of Malfoy Manor, watching as Lucius beat Draco. Draco was on his knees, moaning helplessly, letting out a shriek each time the cane connected to his back._

"_This is how you uphold the family name?" the real Lucius screamed. "By letting that Potter become part of the Dark Lord?"_

"_I don't know!" Draco gasped. "I don't know what you're talking about!"_

"_Liar!" Lucius shrieked. "You knew everything, the whole time. Were you there, when Voldemort imprinted himself on that scum? Did you see everything?"_

"_No!" Draco screamed. "I don't know what you're talking about!"_

_The Lucius-shell sighed. "We might as well sit. We'll be here for a while."_

_Harry sat next to him, watching dully as Draco, his Draco, continued to take the beating, all the while saying he didn't know what Lucius was talking about, he hadn't been involved, it wasn't his fault. Harry wanted to cry, but he didn't have any tears._

_With something approaching horror he reached up to where his eyes should have been. The flesh around them felt burnt and chalky, and when he dared to touch where his eyeballs had been he felt only void. He screamed._

_The Lucius-shell made a noise almost like laughter. "Finally figured it out, have you? You're like me now. A Harry-shell, as you think of it. We're still in Azkaban; I wager my family is still there. But I can't be there when they are, can't take comfort in my wife's hands, in my dragon's eyes. We'll remain in memories until they leave and then we'll go back."_

_Draco's screams were echoing in his ears and he clapped his hands to his ears, shaking his head. "No," he insisted. "No, I'm not like you, I haven't been Kissed, they had no reason."_

"_They don't need one," it answered. It reached out and touched the crest Harry was still wearing. "This is enough of a reason."_

"_Why am I with you?" Harry asked. "How can I still talk, still think? I thought you disappeared when you were Kissed."_

"_You do," it replied. "None of this is real. It was, once, but that was long ago. You're sitting in our cell, your so-called eye-pits as vacant as mine. As for why you're with me…" The Lucius-shell shrugged. "No doubt to increase our torment. We were hardly the closest of friends."_

"_But—"_

_The scene around him faded. He sat in a corner of the cell, knees up to his chest, hands clasping the sides of his head. All thought was gone, all memories disappeared. Nothingness surrounded him. He might have thought it was worse than hearing Draco's screams, than cradling Dumbledore's body, if he could remember what that had been like. But everything was gone. Except the cold._

Harry woke up drenched in sweat, shaking uncontrollably. His room was pitch black and his hands flew to his eyes. Normal, like always. He still had eyeballs, his skin wasn't cracked and flaking, there were no eye-pits. And he wasn't cold; Draco chilled easily and insisted on a roaring fire all night long, though he enchanted it dark so they could sleep, as well as several comforters.

Draco himself lay next to him, curled in a peaceful ball. His breathing rose and fell regularly, he wasn't muttering in his sleep, or thrashing about. No, Harry was the only one with nightmares this night.

Harry sat up and reached blindly for his glasses. The little he could see in the dimness came into focus, and he took in their room, solidifying himself in his place. He was here, in the East Tower, at Hogwarts. No Dementors. No Lucius-shell. No Harry-shell. His fingers slid over his eyes again, memorizing the gentle gradient of his eyeballs beneath his lids.

He reached for his wand and silently summoned a chocolate frog from his sock drawer. He ripped it open and threw the card aside; even if he could have seen it, he had long ago collected all of them. He kept a careful grip on the wriggling chocolate and took a small bite. Some manner of relief flooded through him but not enough, not nearly. He ate the rest of the frog, thinking only of Draco's screams, of Sirius falling backwards, of the Lucius-shell and how awful it had been. Harry whispered _Lumos_ and checked his hands and arms; his skin was quite solid, no veins to be seen anywhere.

Draco shifted against him, muttering in the light. Harry hurriedly whispered _Nox_ and put his wand back down. Draco stilled, and Harry was selfishly disappointed. If he accidentally woke Draco and he was comforted that was one thing, but if he did it on purpose, that was another entirely.

With shaking hands, he checked his eyes for the third time. Still normal. What little comfort the chocolate offered had worn off and Harry was still shaking, perilously close to tears, was still clammy from sweat. Being as quiet as he could he slipped out of bed, wand in hand, and walked into the living room, quietly closing the bedroom door behind himself. He wrapped himself in one of the blankets Draco kept on the couch and lit a fire. Warmth jumped out at him, shadows fading away to nothing in the light. He could just barely see the horizon beginning to lighten and wished there was a Quidditch practice to go watch. But the next match wasn't until February, and the teams had taken off the final week before holidays. He supposed he could go fly around for a while, let the chilled December air cut through his nightmare, but the walk to the field seemed so far, and there was that one time when Dementors had interrupted the game, and it seemed safer here where, as far as he knew, Dementors had never set foot.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Harry whirled around, wand raised.

"Harry?" Draco asked sleepily. "What're you doing up so early?"

Harry lowered his wand and returned his gaze to the fireplace. "Couldn't sleep," he said, not entirely lying. "Go back to bed, Dray, I'll be in soon."

Draco hesitated, then joined him on the couch. "You had a nightmare," he stated. "I can always tell, you know. There's no point in lying to me. You're shaking all over, not even your wand arm was steady." Draco took his hands and leaned his head on Harry's shoulder as he had done so many months ago, back in the Room of Requirement. "You won't tell me about it, will you?" It wasn't a question, just a defeated statement.

"I can't," Harry said softly. "You don't want to hear about it."

"I do," Draco insisted. "I've always wanted to hear about them. You've talked to me about them before, told me about Bella torturing you, about watching your parents die. I promise, whatever it is, it's okay."

Harry shook his head. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't convey how terrible the Lucius-shell had been, how awful it had been to be walked through every nightmare of his past with only the Lucius-shell at his side. Besides, he didn't need to put any ideas into Draco's head, didn't want him worrying about his father somehow accidentally getting the Kiss. Harry worried it had just enough credence to stick in Draco's head. It certainly would be in his own from now on.

"Draco," he said softly. "When your dad beat you after he found out I was part of Voldemort, where was it?"

Draco stiffened. "The banquet hall, in front of a crowd of Death Eaters. Voldemort had just left and Father couldn't wait until everyone else departed. Why?"

Harry relaxed a little. His days of having prophetic or genuine dreams were over, he knew that, but hearing it out loud was immensely calming. "It's nothing," he said. "I mean, I guess I can tell you, that was part of the dream, watching your dad beat you. But that was in the basement, not the banquet hall."

Draco's hands tightened on his own. "Not to worry, Harry, you're far from psychic. Besides, you've never even seen the banquet hall, or knew we had one. That would have been quite a leap."

"Yeah, suppose so," Harry said. "The Lucius-shell could have—" He cut off. He had said too much, he always did. That was how Draco knew about the Bellatrix dream, from asking questions until something slipped out.

Draco had tightened again. "Lucius-shell?" he asked. "What do you mean, Lucius-shell?"

Harry closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. _Too late now_, he thought bitterly, and, starting from the beginning, told Draco his nightmare. He could feel how it affected him, how his hands tightened and his body stiffened, and this was why he hadn't wanted to say anything in the first place. But he could hardly stop in the middle, and so he kept going, stopping only where the dream stopped. "I'm sorry," he finished. "I shouldn't have said anything, it was too much, I don't want you—"

"Hush," Draco said, though he sounded shaken. "It's fine. I'm glad you told me." He paused. "Shall we go owl Mother, ask her how Father is doing? She has a contact inside and gets regular updates." He didn't wait for Harry to answer. "Come on, let's go." They threw on whatever clothes were closest and walked in silence to the Owlery. The floor was cold against Harry's bare feet, reminding him of the concrete in Azkaban. He kept his eyes ahead, not daring to look down, needing the constant reminder that he was in Hogwarts and nowhere else.

The Owlery was freezing, and Harry wished he had thought to bring a cloak. The stone floor was even colder than Azkaban had been, an odd sort of comfort. He got out a piece of parchment along with the Self-Inking quill he kept here. He hovered over the page. "Should I?" he asked. "Or do you want to?"

"No, go ahead," Draco said. "Your nightmare, you can owl Mother yourself."

"Right then." He continued to hold the quill just above the page, trying to figure out how to phrase his letter.

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_Draco and I were talking, and we both wanted to know how his dad is doing, if you've heard anything. I hope all is well with you._

_See you in a few weeks,_

_Harry and Draco._

He whistled and Brian appeared in front of him, dutifully holding out his leg. Harry read over the letter once again. "D'you think it's too informal?" he asked nervously. "Will your mum think I'm rude?"

"It's fine," Draco said, and Harry heard a note of urgency in his voice. Yes, he had planted the idea in Draco's head, and now it wouldn't go away, and it was all his fault. "She'll just be happy to hear from you, really. Just send it, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," Harry echoed. He tied the note to Brian's leg and sent him off. Capry had flown over to them and was perched on Draco's lap, nipping his fingers anxiously. It was clear he could sense something was wrong but not what, and he seemed very agitated indeed that Brian was tasked with delivering the letter instead of himself.

"Go on," Draco said, though he made no effort to push the owl out of his lap. "Capry, really, I haven't got anything for you today." He hooted indignantly and Draco rolled his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an owl treat, which Capry immediately started eating. "Bloody spoiled prat," he said kindly. "Always gets what he wants, never mind if he deserves it or not."

Harry managed a smile. "Sounds like someone else I know." He scooted closer to Draco, trying to steal some of his warmth. "Back to bed?" he asked. "Or are you sufficiently awake?"

Draco sighed, absentmindedly petting Capry. "I'm awake. On a Saturday morning, no less. Quidditch?"

Harry shuddered. "Dray, it's freezing. I can see my breath as it is."

"Then wear something warm," he said demandingly. "Come on, Harry. You said I always get what I want, don't make yourself a liar. Besides, we've got that fresh brew of hot chocolate, and I'll even lend you my spare pair of gloves, given that yours are more hole than glove."

Harry frowned. "I like my gloves. And why didn't you tell me you had a spare set until now? I've been freezing my hands off all this time for nothing?"

Draco smirked. "I was waiting until you really needed them," he said. "Don't make me resort to begging, not this early in the morning, and certainly not when you haven't got me tied to our bed and it's your cock I need."

Harry shivered again, this time for entirely different reasons. "Fine," he said. "We need to stop by our room to get dressed properly, though."

"But of course," Draco replied, standing up and sending Capry back into the rafters. He took Harry's hand as they walked back, both still mindful of Harry's nightmare, regardless of the letter sent and the prospect of Quidditch. "Shall we decide on stakes while we're still inside and warm?" Draco asked.

They had only played once since the blowjob in the library, being overworked and the weather getting steadily worse, and the stakes then had revolved around the next trip to Hogsmeade. But with only one week of school left until the Yule Ball and vacation, there was hardly time for anything off campus, and Harry didn't fancy another library incident, no matter how good it had been.

"Winner gets to top?" he suggested as they arrived in front of their portrait. "Harry James Potter and—"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, yes, I know," the cat said irritably. "It's so early; don't you know cats spend most of their time sleeping?"

"Yes, but I also know they're primarily nocturnal," Draco said.

The sphinx hissed at him. "And what's this business of topping? Who made the brilliant decision that I wanted to hear about your apparently quite illicit sex life?"

"Sorry," Harry said. "I wasn't thinking."

"Most certainly not." The sphinx lay back down, stretching in the sun; it was always sunny in its portrait, a fact that could make Harry exceedingly jealous. "I think I shan't let you in," it said, closing one eye. "I'd much rather sleep than have to listen to you to have a go at it."

"We were going to play Quidditch," Draco said. "We just need to get properly dressed and then we'll be gone."

"So I'll have to open yet again?" It yawned. "I don't think so. Go away, you're ruining my sleep." The cat turned around, swishing its tail lazily, stirring up a small sandstorm.

Harry turned to Draco, dumbfounded. This was the first time they had been denied entrance, though he supposed he should have guessed it was coming soon enough. Despite the fact that the portrait wasn't affected by the same weather as Hogwarts, the sphinx had been getting more and more snappy as it got colder and snowier.

"Well then," Draco said. "Shall we try the Room of Requirement? Perhaps it shall supply us with proper attire."

"Might as well," Harry grumbled. He paced in front of the wall, thinking of Quidditch robes and jumpers and boots and thick, woolen socks. The door appeared and he opened in eagerly.

What he was faced with was not what he had been expecting. The room looked almost exactly the same has it had when he and Draco had been living there; only the color scheme was different. And, Harry noted with a blush, the couple sleeping in the bed. Thankfully fully clothed, Neville and Aurora were spooning, Neville snoring quietly like he always did, arm wrapped securely around his girlfriend. Harry hurriedly closed the door before Draco could see, and it disappeared.

"What was that about?" Draco asked suspiciously. "Were there no clothes?"

"Er, no, I'm sure there were, somewhere," Harry stammered. "It's just we weren't welcome."

"Then why did it open in the first place?"

"Its—occupants were sleeping," Harry said carefully. "And they're friends of ours, so they probably weren't focusing on privacy."

"Longbottom and Jones, then?" Draco asked. "Can't imagine who else it would be, unless Luna's finally got herself a boyfriend."

"Not that I know of, no," Harry said. "Come on, then, let's find a place to wait for breakfast."

"I still want to play Quidditch," Draco said stubbornly. "We've got robes in the locker rooms, and a little cold never killed anyone."

"Dray, I don't have shoes," Harry said. "And there's snow on the ground. I haven't got my wand, either, so I can't transfigure myself a pair."

"Leaving your room without shoes or a wand?" Draco asked snidely. "You're simply brilliant, Potter."

"Have you got yours then?" Harry asked angrily. "Because I don't see you pulling it out."

Draco flushed ever so slightly. "No, but at least I've got shoes."

"Yeah, shoes and a wand, definitely equivalent," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Can you do wandless magic?" Draco asked. "It seems like the sort of thing you would have learned in your precious Dumbledore's Army."

"Only a few spells," Harry said. "Lumos, Nox, Accio, that sort of thing. Nothing helpful. Nothing that can summon things through locked doors."

Draco frowned. "It's not that long a walk to the field," he said, his voice taking on the you-always-give-me-what-I-want-so-you-might-as-well-stop-arguing-now tone Harry despised. Or found incredibly sexy, depending on the circumstances. Now was not one of those times. "And I'm sure the path has been cleared. Once we're in the air your feet won't even be on the ground."

"No," Harry said firmly. "I'm in jeans and a tee-shirt, the ground is frozen solid, and I shouldn't even be justifying myself to you because, really, this is ridiculous. No."

Draco's frown deepened. "Come on, Harry. It's the last chance we'll get to play before the holidays, and once we come back, house practices will pick up again."

Harry let out a huge sigh. "If _you_ walk to the field and fly up to the Owlery _with_ my cloak, I _suppose_ I'll consent to a ride to the field, but _only_ if my feet never have to touch the ground."

Draco grinned and kissed his cheek. "Meet you there in five."

Sulking all the way, Harry stomped back up to the Owlery, wrapping his arms around himself. He wasn't even outside, not technically, nor was there any wind chill from flying, and he was already freezing. This was bloody ridiculous.

Draco arrived a moment later, flying in through one of the large windows, startling several owls into flight. He landed gracefully and gave Harry his robes. He pulled them on quickly; they were warmer than just his shirt, but not by much.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Harry muttered, climbing onto the back of Draco's broom and wrapping his arms around his waist. "Go on, then."

"It'll be a short game, I promise," Draco said, kicking off and whisking out the window. The wind cut through Harry's robes, stung his cheeks, freezing his hands. He pushed his face against Draco's back, trying to stay as warm as possible.

"No, it won't be," Harry grumbled. Given all the times they had played together, they had learned each other's styles, their flying patterns, when they were faking and when they actually saw the Snitch. It made for some very long games indeed, especially when banter was reduced from, say, cold. He was extremely loathe to let go of Draco when they landed, both for the sake of his feet on the admittedly very short walk to his broom, and for losing his heat source. But he did it without complaining, climbing onto his broom and hovering just high enough his feet didn't touch the ground. "Have we decided on stakes, then?" he asked, shivering at a particularly harsh gust of wind. "Winner gets to top?"

Draco frowned. "I don't like being on top," he said. "That's hardly a prize. And you prefer it, so I'd just let you win, and it wouldn't be much of a game at all."

"Then think of something, and hurry up," Harry said. "I'm bloody freezing." He experimented with trying to sit on his feet, which were quickly growing numb, and nearly fell off his broom. Draco laughed lightly.

"Loser buys the other an extra Christmas gift," he suggested. "The bigger the pile, the better."

Harry's stomach lurched. He hadn't even decided on one yet, and Draco was already thinking in terms of piles? That did not bode well. "No, I've got something special planned," he lied. "Loser has to go to Madame Pomfrey to get something for my feet before I get frostbite and have to get them amputated."

Draco laughed again. "Full of wit and humor, you are," he said. "Seriously, Harry, think of something, or be at the mercy of my terribly dirty mind."

"Fine, that," Harry said. "I don't care as long as it's decided so we can get going."

Draco smirked, tapping his chin with a long, elegant finger. "Hmm," he mused. "What would I like…? Winner gets to dictate the first place we have sex in France?"

Harry considered it. "I don't even know what that means, but fine, let's go."

Draco released the Snitch and they were off.

The game was hell, if hell were frozen and not an inferno. Harry couldn't remember being this cold before, not even in his dream. The Quidditch robes did nothing, the wind blowing through them as if he were naked. His feet and hands ached; both his gloves and Draco's extra pair were in their room, so he was left bare handed as well as barefoot. His eyes were freezing, and while he tried telling himself that was a good thing because it meant he didn't have to worry about his dream anymore, it certainly didn't feel like one. His nose was running and his cheeks and lips were cracking. Even his broom felt cold against his hands and certain other areas he would really rather keep warm.

"How're you holding up, Potter?" Draco yelled from across the field. "Frozen solid yet? Will I get to lick you until you melt into my mouth?"

"You're not getting anywhere near my pants, or what's inside them, for a good long time," Harry snapped back. "This is fucking miserable."

"I admit, it is a tad chilly," Draco replied. "But really, Potter, if you just stare ahead blankly, you're not going to end this game any sooner."

Harry thought that was a rather good point and forced himself out of his self-pity and started looking for the snitch. The sun had risen just enough that everything was glinting gold; he knew damned well that sunrise and sunset weren't good times to play Quidditch but had that stopped him? No, it had not. After he successfully caught a rock for the fourth time he chucked it at Draco, who was far enough away there wasn't a chance of it hitting him. Draco laughed.

"You're just determined to kill me on this field, aren't you?" he asked.

"I'm not the one forcing you out here to freeze," Harry said angrily, rising again to circle the field, officially deciding that anything on the ground was not going to be the Snitch.

"I didn't _force_ you," Draco drawled. "I just _suggested_." The desire to strangle him was nearly overwhelming, but Harry resigned himself to choking his broom instead.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spotted the snitch. He raced towards it, tearing past a surprised Draco, barely managing to close his numbed, stiffened fingers around the ball.

"There," he said. "I've won. Now can we bloody well go back inside?"

Draco looked legitimately upset that he didn't win, which was unusual. Generally he just pouted and threw out a snide comment or two, but this seemed different.

"Fine," he said, flying over to Harry and grabbing the ball from him. He stayed silent as he put it away, as Harry sprinted into the locker room to stash his broom before jumping back on Draco's. They were halfway to the Owlery when he burst out, "You don't even know our villa. How are you supposed to know the best places to shag?"

Harry grinned, or would have had his face not been frozen. "That's the price you pay for being a second-rate Seeker," he shot back.

Draco didn't respond to that, depositing Harry in the Owlery in silence. Harry stood just outside the doors, though the drafts coming from underneath the door were almost as cold as the room itself, as well as the draftiness of the castle. Draco seemed to take forever to show up and once he did, Harry grabbed his arm and started walking.

"Where exactly are we going?" Draco asked. "I don't fancy having another go at our portrait, not until its had a bit more sleep."

"Gryffindor Tower," Harry said firmly. "It's warm and comfortable and you won't talk me out of it. If you don't want to join me fine, but it's my house and I'm going there."

"No need to get pissy," Draco said lightly. "I'll accompany you. I could use a nice fire."

It was only when Harry arrived at the doorway that he realized he didn't know the password. And the Fat Lady was still asleep. "Bloody hell," he mumbled, then said louder, "Hello? We want to get in!"

The Fat Lady jerked awake. She narrowed her eyes. "You again. Not a proper Gryffindor, either of you."

"Excuse me," Draco huffed. "I'm not a Gryffindor at all, I just happen to be—"

Harry elbowed him before he could say something to get them banished from this room as well. "Licorice wand," he tried. "Acid pop, ice mice—"

"Stop," she sighed. "Lucky guess. Go in."

The portrait swung open and Harry had never been more grateful to enter the common room. It was early enough that it was still empty and he pushed one of the couches as close to the fireplace as he dared before collapsing on it. The sudden heat stung his feet, but anything was better than the cold. Draco sat next to him, yawned, and leaned his head on his shoulder.

"I'm going back to sleep," he said. "Wake me when you think we have a chance of getting back into our room."

"Right, because I definitely know when that will be." Still, he was starting to warm, including his feet, and he found himself sleepy as well.

"Don't be fresh," Draco muttered. He found Harry's hand and slipped their fingers together.

"Mm," Harry replied noncommittally. It might have been a better idea to have gone up to Ron and Hermione's room to avoid being woken up earlier than they wanted, and possibly by the wrong people, but he was in no position to get up. He was asleep moments later.


	40. Chapter 40: Before the Ball

**A/N:** Again, I'm sorry this is going up so late! I had a doctor's appointment, and then I got distracted by the undeniable sexiness of Billy Idol. _Le sigh._

Anyways. Fluff. Silliness. Some more obnoxiousness from the French girls. And next chapter, _serious_ sexy-times. Of course, I might not be able to publish that chapter until Sunday or Monday, but rest assured, it is coming. Literally.

(sorry, I couldn't help myself)

Enjoy!

**Chapter Forty:**

_**Before the Ball**_

Harry woke up to a flurry of screaming French attacking him from all sides. Draco, who was still curled against him, was yelling perilously close to his ear, and the French girls were on the other side of the couch and was that Hermione to his right, also shouting in French? He didn't even know she spoke French.

He tugged on Draco's arm. "Dray, what's—?"

Draco whipped around to him, eyes narrowed into slits, steel grey slicing through him. "_Ne vous impliquez pas, laissez-moi_—"

"I don't speak French," Harry reminded him. Draco started to answer him, then broke off into another stream of French directed at Violette.

"He said to stay out of it," Hermione said, voice tight. She was still in her pajamas, and Harry saw she was gripping her wand, though she hadn't raised it. Ron was standing behind her, looking as confused as Harry felt. "Violette and Charlotte, they're—_Comment osez-vous, pompeux, stupides filles_!" She turned back to Harry. "Do you have any idea where Neville is? We need our Head Boy."

"Er, not around, I don't think," Harry said, thinking of him and Aurora in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione sighed. "Brilliant." She resumed yelling in French, and Harry sunk into the couch. Clearly he and Draco caused this, and he wasn't at all sure he wouldn't rather just be sitting on the floor outside their painting, waiting for the sphinx to calm down.

The longer the exchange went on, the more students collected in the common room. A few shouted words of—encouragement? disapproval?—at the involved parties, but it seemed for the most part Harry was not alone in his inability to speak French, and mostly the crowd was just watching.

After what seemed like years, Neville burst in through the portrait, look furious, still wearing pajamas, Aurora trailing sleepily behind him. Someone, it seemed, had alerted him to the fight.

"Stop it right now!" he yelled, and the room fell silent, though Draco was still muttering under his breath. "If you're shouting loud enough that the _portraits_ felt the need to fetch me, you can be assured that points are going to be taken from _someone_. Now tell me what's going on." Violette, Charlotte and Draco all burst into French and Neville had to yell to be heard over them. "_Stop_! One at a time! In English!" He eyed the participants. "Hermione, why don't you start?"

"Well, I wasn't here for the beginning, but I came down when I heard yelling," she said. "From what I gathered, Harry and Draco had been sleeping on the couch, and Violette and Charlotte took personal offense at the appearance of a Malfoy, as well as—" Hermione flushed. "Well, apparently they have a problem with same-sex relationships."

"You bet your _cul_ we do," Charlotte spit. "It is a disgrace, to the names of Hogwarts, of Gryffindor and the Boy Who Lived."

"Then it kind of deteriorated," Hermione continued. "Yelling, swearing, cursing, you know. Draco and I were defending Harry, and their relationship."

Neville took a deep breath. "Right. Charlotte, Violette, ten points from each of you, and I'll be informing Headmistress McGonagall of your remarks. Perhaps you would be better sorted elsewhere."

"Defending, hah!" Violette burst out. "You say calling my mother _une vache en surpoids_ a defense? It was that one," she said, pointing at Draco, "who insulted my mother so."

Neville sighed. "Five points from Slytherin. Draco, really, they're fifteen. Surely you're secure enough to not need to insult them back?" Draco merely ground his teeth. "Fine then." Neville seemed to notice for the first time the crowd that had gathered. "Go on!" he said, flapping his arms. "It's done, nothing interesting's happening!" The French girls stormed back to their room and the rest of the students slowly dispersed. Neville let out another sigh and addressed Harry, Draco, Ron and Hermione. "Breakfast, then?"

Draco was still quite bitter as they walked down to breakfast, and he remained silent as they ate. Harry tucked his feet under himself, hoping he wouldn't get yelled at for being barefoot in the Great Hall. They had met Luna just as they walked into the Great Hall and Draco had decided on everyone's behalf that they would be eating at the Ravenclaw table so he wouldn't have to be anywhere near Violette and Charlotte. Nobody was in the mood to argue with him.

Brian returned halfway through breakfast, and with an uneasy sense of trepidation Harry opened the note, Draco reading over his shoulder.

_Dear Harry,_

_How very kind of you to write and ask after Lucius. I have not heard for several weeks, but as of the end of November he was doing as well as to be expected. I have not been able to see or speak to him directly, but my contact within Azkaban assures me he is surviving. He is very much looking forward to our visit on Christmas Day; Draco told me you will be going with us, and we are happy to have you._

_May the rest of your term be simple and safe, and your Yule Ball enjoyable. Draco tells me you will be leading the dance; how I wish I could see you boys leading the school at such times. Do try to take a picture, would you? I could not ask for a better Christmas gift._

_Best wishes,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Harry and Draco both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well," Harry said. "That's that, then."

"I have to say, I feel quite ridiculous," Draco replied quietly, so only Harry could hear him. "Of course Father hasn't been Kissed; not only would I have been informed immediately, but it simply would not happen. Nevertheless, Harry, thank you for writing Mother, both for our peace of mind and for the apparent pleasure it brought her." Draco kissed his cheek.

"Why is it whenever I see you boys you're just on the edge of appropriate?" McGonagall asked, appearing behind them. Draco jerked away and Harry resumed eating his pancakes, only blushing slightly. "Regardless of your intimacy, Mr. Longbottom, I have news for you regarding the Yule Ball." Neville looked up, very nervous. Harry had told him about his discussion with the slightly inebriated McGonagall, and Neville had nearly killed him. He did _not_ want to dance at all, let alone with the whole school staring at him. "I'm afraid Mr. Weasley, as official Head Boy, will be partaking in the first dance. It came down to allowing you to return to your official duties and allowing the offending Slytherins to attend the party or leaving the position to Mr. Weasley, and I'm sure you know I could hardly revoke their sentence."

Neville breathed a sigh of relief. "That's quite alright, Professor."

"Good," she replied. "And, as always, I am glad to see you branching and sitting with another house." Draco muttered something under his breath, and McGonagall's lips thinned. "I heard that, Mr. Malfoy. I am on my way to speak to the Laurent cousins now, and while you can be assured I am taking the situation very seriously, there is no need for such language."

"Sorry, Professor," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"I've—well, Ron has already docked him points for swearing at the girls earlier today," Neville supplied.

"I have heard. Now go on, finish your breakfast and enjoy your last week," she said, starting to leave but turning back at the last minute. "Oh, and Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up guiltily. "Yes, Professor?"

"I would appreciate it if you could bring yourself to wear shoes in the Great Hall, like the rest of us," she said.

Harry flushed. "Yes, Professor."

"Indeed," she said, and left.

"Oh thank Merlin," Neville sighed once she was out of earshot. "I was terrified of that dance." He turned to Aurora, suddenly looking concerned. "I hope you weren't looking forward to it; I'd hate to have—"

"No, it's fine, don't worry about it," Aurora replied. "I just want one proper dance with you, I don't care when. And given what y'all have told me about your dancing abilities, perhaps not being in the spotlight would be a plus."

Neville flushed. "Er, yeah, probably."

As the week progressed conversation turned more and more to the Yule Ball until it was all anyone was talking about. Harry couldn't begin to fathom the number of people who had asked him if he was going with Draco, people who he had never even seen before. First years, transfer students, whoever happened to be closest at the time. Even during the Yule Ball of his fourth year the topic of his date hadn't been so scrutinized.

The one person who didn't ask, however, was Pansy Parkinson. She hadn't spoken a single word to Harry or Draco since the Firewhiskey incident, and had limited her interactions entirely to Slytherins alone. She had also stopped glaring at him, which Harry admitted made him a little nervous, but when he brought it up to Draco, he had just laughed and dismissed it.

The feel of the holidays in the air did not extend to the professors, who continued to assign giant mountains of homework, which kept Harry up late into the night. He didn't know if Draco just wasn't doing it or if he had managed a new way of speeding through the work, but he was always finished by no later than nine or ten, resulting in games of wizard chess with Ron that lasted until Hermione physically forced Ron's work onto his lap. Then Draco reclined with a Nicholas Skye book, ignoring the struggling students around him. Only very begrudgingly did he help anyone but Harry with potions, though Harry had noticed that all of their potions marks had started to improve. They split their studying time between the library, Harry and Draco's room and, very occasionally, the Gryffindor common room if the library was too crowded and the sphinx was in a mood, which happened more and more frequently. Still, Draco never managed to be in bed later than midnight, while Harry was regularly up until two or three, struggling to get his essays done on time.

Finally Friday arrived, and though they had collected an impressive amount of work for over the holidays, afternoon classes were cancelled in light of the Yule Ball, and the last thing on Harry's mind was homework. Nor was the Ball itself his most prevalent thought; no, it was the fact that the trip to Hogsmeade to go Christmas shopping with Ron and Neville had never happened and tomorrow he was going to be whisked away to France and he still hadn't a single gift for Draco. So instead of packing, like he should have been doing—and like Draco was doing, and continually asking him why he wasn't—or getting ready for the Ball, or trying to figure out some way he could disappear for a day before Christmas, he spent an hour decorating their rooms, the ones they were leaving in less than twenty-four hours. Garlands draped on the mantle and above the windows, a sprig of mistletoe hung in the doorway, a wreath on their door and a miniature Christmas tree complete with fake presents and enchanted snow sat in front of their windows. Harry had even summoned a few fairies to adorn the tree, as if the sparkling snow wasn't enough. He knew he was being ridiculous, but changing the carpet from off-white to green and the couch to a brilliant red was far easier than admitting he had no idea what to pack, hadn't done any Christmas shopping at all, let alone for Draco, and was expected to be leading a dance in about four hours.

Draco emerged from the bedroom and stopped still. "It's certainly—festive in here," he said delicately, watching as their black and white table changed to red and green. He shook himself and crossed his arms. "Harry, I really wish you'd start packing. I was hoping to arrive at our villa in time for lunch, which will be hard enough without you needing to throw three weeks of clothing and whatever else you need into a suitcase I have no reason to believe exists in the first place."

Harry looked up from the candles he had been magicking onto the table. "Draco," he stated, smirking.

Draco's eyes narrowed. Harry was not one to smirk. "What?"

Harry stood, letting his wand fall to the table. "You're beneath the mistletoe."

Draco looked up. "Oh, for Merlin's beard, Harry, of all the inane things you could be doing, did you _really_ feel the need to—mmfph!" His words were cut off as Harry kissed him, gently at first, then pushing him against the doorframe, inserting his legs between Draco's, gently rubbing himself on Draco. Draco let out a pleased sigh, hands going to Harry's waist, opening to the kiss before remembering what he was trying to accomplish. He pushed Harry back, noting the distinctive flush of his cheeks, the roguish glint in his eyes, the way his hair was disheveled even more than usual, and had a sinking suspicion anything he could say would fall on deaf ears.

"Harry," he said firmly, crossing his arms again. "You've got four—no, three and a half hours to the Yule Ball and you haven't had dinner, showered or gotten dressed, nor have you packed for three weeks of vacation, so unless you expect me to buy you an entirely new wardrobe in France, I insist on—_no_, Harry, stop, listen to me," he said, pushing Harry away, who had started nibbling on his neck. "Harry, I'm serious. Even if you leave packing to the last minute, I will not have you looking a disgrace at the Ball. Not when we're dancing in the name of Salazar Slytherin."

Harry made a face. "I can't dance," he said, picking up his wand and lighting the candles. "And I don't know how I let you talk me into being your _Slytherin_ date."

"Watch your tone," Draco snapped. Harry flicked his wand at him and Draco squeaked in surprise, throwing off the antlered headband that had suddenly appeared. "Potter, don't you _dare_—" A sparkly red ball appeared on his nose and he grabbed it, flinging it at Harry. "I'm not bloody kidding around. If you even think of—" A Santa hat and beard materialized and Draco let out a shriek of annoyance. He stomped into the bedroom, grabbed his wand and reemerged. "Alright Potter, you asked for it," he snarled. "_Arborio Natalis_."

Harry was forced to his feet as his legs became wooden, fusing together. His body started to expand while his head shrunk and he sprouted a whole host of pine needles. The fairies that had been on the small tree alighted onto him, settling on the point of his head, creating a makeshift angel. Harry could barely move his arms but he managed to point his wand at Draco. "_Engorgio!_" he said. "_Culario Moltari! Holoserica Ocreis! Barba Genas_" Draco's stomach grew, his sweater and pants turned red, trimmed with white fluff, and his socked feet were covered in black boots. The beard affixed itself to his face and his cheeks turned a bright red. Harry started laughing. The illusion was just too perfect. Pine needles fell into his open mouth and he spit them out, wiping his lips.

"Camera?" he asked, keeping a hand over his mouth to prevent any further needle incidents.

"Absolutely not," Draco snapped. "Come on. Pack. Take a shower. Eat. Do _something_ useful."

There was a knock on the door and before either boy could respond, or undo the transfigurations, Hermione and Ron walked in. They paused for a split second before bursting into laughter. They looked a little saccharine but holiday appropriate in matching Weasley sweaters and their normal jeans. Hermione had tied her hair back with a red ribbon and Ron's shoes had turned green. Neither of them resembled foliage or a make-believe Christmas icon.

"Shut up," Draco spat. "This is all Potter's fault." He waved his wand at himself and he returned to normal. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought you'd be busy packing or something."

"No, we've finished," Hermione said and Draco shot a withering glare at Harry, who was trying to manage the dexterity to point his wand at himself while his arms were primarily wooden. "We were going down to dinner. They're closing the Hall early to get it ready for the Ball. Though," she said with a chuckle, "I suppose Harry would fit right in."

"I could use a hand here," Harry huffed after dropping his wand entirely and realizing he could no longer bend at the waist.

"Not from me," Draco said and swept into the bedroom. "You got yourself into this mess, you can figure out how to get out of it. I'm getting my shoes so we can eat."

Harry shuffled around so he was facing Ron and Hermione, causing another round of giggling. "Would one of you help me? Please?" Eventually Hermione calmed down enough to perform the counterspell and Harry returned to a decidedly more human form. "Thank you," he said, brushing pine needles off himself, knowing Draco would be upset with him for getting the apartment messy and not particularly caring. "You two match well enough."

Hermione and Ron both flushed slightly. "It's my mum, you know how she is," Ron said, then broke into a grin again. "I imagine you and Malfoy'll look much the same come Christmas day."

Harry stared at him. "Your mom is knitting _Draco_ a Weasley sweater?"

"She can't help herself, you know how she is," Ron replied. "We're all getting one and then she's taking a picture of all of us together, all wearing the stupid things."

Harry was not at all sure things would go that smoothly, not with Draco involved, but he kept his mouth shut, and soon enough they were in the Great Hall, joining Neville, Aurora and Luna at the Hufflepuff table for a festive dinner. Draco disappeared partway through dinner, claiming he had to start to get ready, causing Harry to roll his eyes. But then Hermione glanced at the clock and stood as well.

"I should probably get on it, too," she said, tugging self-consciously on her sweater. "Aurora, we were going to get ready in my room, right?"

"Yeah, sure. We just need to stop by my dorm to get my dress," she replied, also getting up. "Luna, are you coming?"

"I suppose I ought to," she replied. "I'm dancing in the first dance, you know, and I—"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "The Head Boy and Girl dance? Who invited you?"

"Michael Corner," Luna replied. "For being Ravenclaw's Head Boy, he certainly needs a lot of help with his homework, even from a seventh year. At first I thought he was just dull, but he catches on very quickly, once you explain it to him. It was very nice of him; I've never had a proper date before, other than when Harry brought me to Slughorn's Christmas party, and I imagine this will be much more fun." She seemed entirely oblivious to the stares she was getting as she rose. "Shall we go off, then?"

"I—yeah, of course," Hermione stammered. "Oh, and Ron, I've left your robes in the boy's dormitory."

He moved his stare from Luna to Hermione. "What d'you mean? I'm not allowed in my own room?"

Hermione looked scandalized. "Certainly not! You'll see us when we meet at the bottom of the stairs and not a moment sooner." She swept out of the room, Aurora and Luna following.

Ron shook his head. "Girls are bloody mental," he said.

Hermione's demands made Harry nervous. What if he wasn't allowed in his room, either? Even if Draco had remembered to set out his dress robes, which was not a given, not considering how wrapped up he was in how he looked, how was he supposed to take a shower? Even if he hadn't needed one earlier—though Draco had insisted he did, so he could get his hair right—he certainly did now; pine needles continued to fall from his hair, and there were bits of sap sticking to him. If Draco expected him to use the communal Gryffindor showers after he had gotten used to his own, he was sorely mistaken.

Harry got steadily more and more anxious as he, Ron and Neville finished dinner. He shouldn't have spent all afternoon messing around with decorations, that had been ridiculous. He should have packed, or taken a shower, or even perhaps snuck off campus to go Christmas shopping. Anything, really, would have been more productive than decorating a room that was going to be left empty for three weeks.

"Hey, guys?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Yeah?" Neville replied, and Ron, whose mouth was full of pudding, indicated he, too, was listening.

"Have you done your Christmas shopping yet?"

"Just for Rory," Neville replied. "I did end up getting her jewelry, a necklace with a tiny, glass plumeria flower; I asked Gran and she insisted it wasn't too obvious, as long as I got her a few other things as well, though I don't think I did too well there, either. Chocolates—nice ones, but still, chocolates—and a crystal cauldron stirrer."

Harry's heart dropped. That sounded perfect.

"Yeah, same here," Ron said once he swallowed. "Since Hermione and I are going to be in London as it is, I figured I could save my shopping for then. But I got her a few books from Obscurus Books—don't tell her I apparated out of Hogsmeade, she'd kill me—and something from Venus and Eros that is between us and us alone."

Harry let out a huge sigh. "Brilliant," he said. "Both of you, really, that all sounds perfect."

"I take it you haven't gotten anything for Draco yet?" Neville asked.

Harry shook his head woefully. "Or for anyone else, and I'm going to be Merlin knows where in the south of France. I don't even have an _idea_ of what he'd like, let alone how to get it."

"Borgin and Burkes?" Ron suggested, causing Harry to hit him harder than necessary. "Okay, okay, fine, not Borgin and Burkes," he said moodily, rubbing his arm. "I don't know. What about those books he's always reading? Nathan something?"

"Nicholas Skyes," Harry said. "And he's already got first editions of all of them."

"Something for potions?" Neville suggested. "Maybe a new cauldron?"

"He's got the top of the line already," Harry replied. "As well as a collapsible, travel cauldron, a miniature diamond one for brewing particularly acidic potions, one that's—"

"We get the point," Ron interrupted. "Blimey, I dunno. Guess you kinda got screwed in the gift-giving department."

Harry sighed again. "Yeah, I actually figured that out already. And what about his _mum_? What in the name of all that is good and holy do I get _Narcissa Malfoy_?"

Silence.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Harry grumbled. "Plus _all_ the Weasleys, and Hermione, never mind the people I'm _not_ seeing Christmas morning. This is bloody impossible."

"You can get us all something for the family," Ron offered. "Mum's been talking about needing a new set of pots for ages."

"Yeah?" Harry brightened. "I can do pots."

"And since Mum'll cook for all of us with them, it counts for everyone," Ron reasoned. "Except, y'know, for me and Hermione. But she's easy enough; just get her a book and she'll be happy."

Neville had been looking steadily more and more anxious, and he finally broke in. "Blimey, I hadn't even thought of Rory's family. I don't know them, how am I supposed to shop for them?"

"The two of you can go together, I imagine," Harry said. "They've got shopping in Wisconsin, right?"

Neville looked suspicious. "I dunno, she said it was pretty rural."

A loud bell rang out, silencing the conversation and signaling the end of dinner. The boys got up and left, splitting off at the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, leaving Harry to walk the rest of the way himself. As expected, the living room—which, now that he wasn't actively decorating it, seemed entirely garish—was empty, and the door to the bedroom closed.

"Draco?" Harry asked, knocking. "I've got to come in, I need a shower, and my clothes."

He heard muffled swearing, clattering and a loud crash. "Alright, fine, come in."

Harry opened the door slowly. As far as he could see, the room was empty. "Dray?"

"I'm in the closet!" he yelled, voice still muffled. "Hurry up and get in the bathroom, would you? I'll leave your dress robes in the other room, and for Merlin's sake, don't forget the yellow bottle."

Stifling laughter, Harry walked into the bathroom, closing the door loudly enough that Draco would be able to hear it was safe to come out. He turned the shower on thinking, in the worst-case scenario, if he had no better, more creative ideas, he could always get Draco clothing. Certainly he couldn't have _every_ cloak. Harry paused halfway through undressing. Could he?


	41. Chapter 41: The Yule Ball, and All the

**A/N:** Here I am! Technically I could have posted yesterday but it wouldn't have gone up until eleven at night, and I was too tired to deal with Google Docs by then. But I didn't want to keep you hanging _too_ long, lest you forget I exist and default to other stories. So here you go! Enjoy!

**Chapter Forty-One:**

_**The Yule Ball, and All the Time Spent Not Dancing**_

Much like the night of the Hallowe'en Feast, Harry, Ron and Neville stood at the bottom of the stairs, fidgeting nervously. Harry felt just as costumed as he had that night, though at least he wasn't sparkling, nor did he stand out as much. His dark jade robes fit him very well, he could thank Draco for that, and if the stares he was getting from what seemed like the entire female population were anything to go by, he looked quite good in them. Still, he couldn't help messing with his clothes, fidgeting nervously with his bowtie, tugging on the bottom of his vest, readjusting the way the cape hung about him. Neville, clad in dark violet and Ron in midnight blue (the color Harry could have sworn was the very first one Draco rejected) were much the same way, and they jumped as a boy Harry hardly recognized approached them.

"This is where the Head Boys and Girls are gathering, yeah?" he asked. Up close Harry realized he knew him from Dumbledore's Army and that he was Michael Corner, Head Boy of Ravenclaw and Luna's date.

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry replied. "Good to see you again."

"And under much better circumstances," Michael replied. "Neville, it's good to see they're letting you lead the dance as well."

Neville flushed. "Er, no, I'm just waiting here."

"I'm still technically Head Boy," Ron supplied.

"Ah," Michael replied.

_Brilliant start_, Harry thought to himself. As if he wasn't already convinced this was going to be an awkward night, now he had confirmation. While they had started out as a gathering of friends turned into an informal but expanding gathering of Head Boys and Girls corner. Of course it was the Gryffindors—and Draco—who were late, which made Harry shuffle even more uncomfortably. Standing in a crowd was better than being with just Ron and Neville, and he didn't feel quite so silly anymore, not with all the other boys dressed the same, but still, he hated the attention he was drawing, the attention that would only get worse once they started dancing. Even worse, if it was like the other Yule Ball, first they would be made to eat on a table set high in front of everyone else and make intelligent, sophisticated conversation, all while being stared at.

And, Harry thought jealously as he looked at the couples around him, he was the only one going with someone not in his own house. Even more, he was going as _Draco's_ date, representing the _Slytherins_. Not to mention that he and Draco were the only same-sex couple, though, aside from those stupid French girls, nobody seemed to care about that nearly as much as the idea of the Golden Boy dating a supposed Death Eater. Still, Harry was very anxious indeed, and was not by Dean's arrival. Harry hadn't even known he was going with Parvati now, and he could see that Dean's expression meant he was in for a night of teasing. Thank heavens Seamus hadn't been invited; that would have been too much, the two of them tag-teaming him.

Professor McGonagall, looking very much how she always did with the exception of her hat, which sparkled slightly in the light, hustled over to them. "Is everyone here?" she asked, then immediately answered herself. "No, I can see we're missing quite a few. And Mr. Longbottom, I told you—"

"I know, I was just waiting over here," Neville said. "I'll leave you to it. Good luck."

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling very much as though he would need it. Ron, he noticed, looked rather green, and hadn't been able to respond to Neville at all. Clearly Harry was not the only one who was nervous.

McGonagall looked down at her watch. "The doors are set to open in just a few moments," she said, sounding a bit anxious herself, which did not make Harry feel any better. "We're on a schedule here, and—ah, there they are," she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Harry turned to look at the stairs. Hermione, Aurora and Luna were all walking down together, side by side, and they looked quite beautiful. Hermione was wearing a light turquoise dress with a full skirt and had her hair tied up with matching ribbons into a fancy sort of bun. Aurora wore pale lavender, so light it was almost white, lace ruffles flowing down from what Harry thought was an empire waistline, though he couldn't be sure that was the right word. Luna was dressed quite simply, in a pale yellow, floor-length satin dress. Hermione and Aurora were practically glowing, and Luna was smiling dreamily. They moved to stand by their partners: Ron whispered something in Hermione's ear, causing her to blush; Aurora disappeared into the crowd, looking for Neville; and Luna stood by Michael Corner, looking a bit out of place amidst the couples.

Of course, Draco was the only one not there.

McGonagall turned to Harry. "I don't suppose you know where Mr. Malfoy is?" she asked sternly, as if it was Harry's fault he wasn't there.

"No," he said. "Er, well, probably still getting ready, though he's been at it for hours now. I don't know what—"

"There's no need to ramble, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said severely. "I'm going to make sure everything is in place and if he isn't here by the time I return, we'll just have to go in without him, and he will join us at the table when he sees fit." She left them, leaving Harry to fidget even more. If he had to walk into that Hall with everyone staring at him _alone_, well, that was just too much to ask. He'd rather be the date of a Slytherin than be by himself under all the eyes of Hogwarts.

"He'll show up, Harry, don't worry," Luna said lightly.

"It's true," Hermione added. "Draco would never miss an opportunity to preen in front of the entire school."

"Right," Harry said, striving for a confidence he didn't feel at all.

And then, with no preamble whatsoever, without even descending the flight of stairs, Draco appeared at his side, wrapping an arm around his and kissing his cheek.

"Sorry, am I late?" he asked, and Harry found he couldn't answer. He had never seen Draco look so good, not even in those white leggings at the Hallowe'en Feast. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was; his dress robes were the traditional black and white of a suit, and white they fit him especially well, accenting all the right parts, it wasn't that. Nor was it the twinkle in his eye, or the flush to his cheeks, or how close he was standing. It was just—just everything. If Ron hadn't spoken up quickly and loudly, Harry thought it entirely possible he would have pushed Draco to the nearest wall and has his way with him right then and there.

"No," Ron said. "Almost, but no. McGonagall's gone to check on the last few details, and then she'll be back for us."

"Excellent," Draco replied, turning to fully face Harry. He smiled softly, reaching up and running his hands through Harry's hair. "You look incredible, Harry. I told you those robes would suit you, and it's just a matter of remembering to use the yellow bottle to get your hair reasonable." Harry couldn't think of a response, not with Draco so close, not with all his energy focused on him. Draco seemed to realize this, and his smile turned into a trademark smirk. "I do look exceptional, don't I? I can hardly blame you for being stunned speechless."

McGonagall reappeared, and calmed significantly when she saw they were all there. "Excellent," she said. "Form two lines, and when the doors open, wait for everyone else to go in first. Then, once the way is clear, walk down the center of the hall and seat yourselves at the table at the head of the room. Much like the Yule Ball four years ago, we will have dinner first, and then you will begin the dance. After that, your evenings are your own. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, you two have already done this, and I expect nothing less than excellence from you." Harry's stomach twisted. "Does everybody understand?" The students nodded. "Right then. As I said, stay here until everybody has gone in, and then you may enter."

She left them and a split second later the doors to the Great Hall flew open. The crowd gasped, even those who had been here for the previous Ball. Harry could barely see from his vantage point, just making out that there was once again a Christmas tree as tall as the ceiling decked out in snow, candles and fairies, snow was falling from the ceiling, disappearing fifteen or twenty feet above the ground, and garlands hung high on the walls. He got an impression of silver and glitter, but beyond that, he would have to wait to see. Slowly the entrance hall emptied until just the Head Boys and Girls and their dates remained. They stood awkwardly for a moment until Michael Corner spoke up.

"So, we should just go in, then?" he said.

"I imagine so," Hermione replied.

"Any particular order?" Padma asked.

"Harry and I would be more than happy to go first," Draco said, causing Harry to think some very angry thoughts. "Perhaps we should arrange ourselves according to house?" There was some shuffling, and a bit of confusion, but eventually they were lined up, Harry and Draco at the head. Draco still had Harry's arm in his, and he looked at him with a brilliant smile that made his knees weak. "Ready?" Harry nodded, hardly aware of what he was doing, and then he was being swept forward, into the Great Hall.

Harry forgot to feel awkward as he took in his surroundings. His impression of silver and glitter and snow was absolutely correct; there were silver candleholders along the walls, candles sparkling brightly. The circular head table, where the staff was already seated, was draped with a white, shimmery tablecloth, adorned by matching silver candleholders. Even the falling snow seemed to sparkle; perhaps the starlight from the enchanted ceiling caught the snow just right, or maybe it was a special bit of trickery on Flitwick's end. And the students, standing on either side and clapping, looked beautiful as well. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought Draco had dressed every single one of them. He caught sight of Neville and Aurora, smiling and waving at them. Harry smiled back, still wishing they could be here with him, regardless of Neville's dancing prowess, or lack thereof.

Then Draco was holding out a chair for him and he sat, Professor Whisp on his right and Draco on his left. The applause continued until each pair had been seated, and then the crowd settled at small, circular tables lit by the same silver candleholders. Like before, little menus stood before them, and Harry chose the ham, though everything looked delicious. He still hadn't managed to get his words back when he started eating, and Draco's hand casually resting on his thigh didn't help.

"I feel like I should ask you how your holidays are going, but since you've only been on break for about eight hours, I don't think I'd get a decent answer," Whisp said, finally breaking the silence.

Harry laughed nervously. Last Yule Ball he had been seated with Percy Weasley, and while this was definitely an improvement in terms of conversation, sitting with a professor as if he was one of them made him feel very awkward indeed. How was he expected to respond? What was he to call her? Could he joke with her, about the holidays? She certainly didn't joke around in class.

"Actually, Harry spent much of his time decorating our room," Draco said smoothly. "It's quite festive."

"Staying for the break, then?" she asked.

A smile lurked at the edges of Draco's mouth. "No," he said. "We leave for France tomorrow. Harry was just amusing himself."

Harry thought that was probably condescending, but he couldn't think of a proper response. "I like the holidays," he said lamely. "I never got to decorate properly before I came to Hogwarts, and since we're not in the dormitories, I wanted to add some cheer." Harry cursed himself. He sounded like an idiot. Add some cheer? Who said that?

"Nothing wrong with that," Whisp said. "I'm returning to my home as well, but it's been decorated already. My daughters are very enthusiastic."

Harry nearly choked on his food. Whisp had a family? Kids? Daughters? Somehow the thought of her—or any of the other professors, for that matter—having a family outside of Hogwarts was baffling.

"Oh?" Draco asked politely. "How old are they?"

"Six and eight," she replied. "Just old enough to think they can decorate themselves without any help. Mathilda—my wife—sent pictures." She smiled, looking much more human than Harry had ever seen her. "I imagine we'll be doing some of our own decorating as well, perhaps higher than four feet off the ground."

Draco laughed lightly and Harry envied him. It was so easy for him to carry on this sort of conversation, while Harry just sputtered along awkwardly. Clearly there were benefits to being raised in society, even if it did make him an insufferable prat most of the time. Harry remained silent as Draco and Whisp carried on as if they had been friends for years. He glanced around the rest of the table, quite jealous of those who sat far enough away from the professors that they didn't have to interact with them. Ron and Hermione were opposite Harry and Draco, and while Hermione did not seem at all pleased to be seated next to Professor Trelawney, she, too, made easy conversation. Maybe it had nothing to do with society; maybe the conversation center of Harry's brain was simply broken.

"So Harry," Whisp said, cutting through his thoughts. "I know it's early in the year to ask, but have you got any plans for after graduation?"

"Er, yeah, the Ministry's offered me a position in the Auror training program," Harry stammered.

Whisp nodded. "Very good. I'm sure many people expect it from you, and I'm glad to see you going down a good path. I've been told you excel at Quidditch as well, and while potentially more glamorous, I think you better suited to the career of an Auror."

Harry flushed. He had never spoken of his desire to play Quidditch professionally, and having it laid before him in such blatant terms was disorienting. "Um, yeah, I imagine that'd be fun, but I've got to, you know—constant vigilance and all." Again, Harry cursed himself. He ought to have glued his mouth shut before coming down to dinner; not even the weird looks he would have gotten could be worse than what came spewing out.

"And Draco, any ideas what you'll be doing?"

Harry's stomach clenched, and the split second it took for him to answer seemed a lifetime. He and Draco hadn't talked about after graduation, hadn't even gotten past the holiday break. What if he wanted to spend a year in Asia, like his mum had? Or go off hunting dragons, or—

"I imagine I'll get a flat in London with Harry," he said, and a sudden tingly warmth filled Harry's stomach. He had to work hard to stop a ridiculous smile from spreading across his face. The assumption that they would continue to be together, continue to live together, was one so delicious he could hardly think. Jets of fire shot throughout his body, including all the wrong places. "As for a job…" Draco shrugged. "I'm not in a position to need to worry about such things."

"How lucky for you," Whisp replied, and Harry thought he heard an undercurrent of bitterness in her voice, though her expression remained perfectly polite. "Just make sure not to fall to the dangers of inertia."

"Hardly," Draco said. "If nothing else, I'll be working to reestablish the Malfoys at the center of London culture. My family has not taken residence in London in quite some time, and I daresay making up for letting appearances fall will take quite enough of my time."

A small frown creased her brow before smoothing out, and Harry wished yet again for the words to stop Draco from being such an ass. "As long as you keep busy," she said.

Thankfully, at that moment the food in front of them disappeared, and McGonagall rose. The rest of the room followed suit, and she whisked the tables to the sides of the room and elevated a platform along the left wall. Harry could see by the name written on the drum set The Weird Sisters had returned and indeed, they were as hairy and their clothes as torn as ever. The room burst into applause, and, much like last Ball, the dance began with a slow song.

Draco took Harry's hand, twining their fingers, and led him onto the dance floor. "Put your hand on my hip," he said quietly, beginning to rotate them in small circles, and Harry did. Harry had to admit, this wasn't nearly as bad as the last Ball. For one thing there were more couples to start with, so there were fewer eyes on him. For another, he was actually in love with his dance partner, quite different from dancing with Parvati. There was an energy between him and Draco, a spark that made every movement electric. Draco's fingers in his felt like fire, the hand on his hip radiating heat in all directions and, when Draco pulled him just a touch closer, the feel of his breath on Harry's skin was enough to send shivers racing through him. Harry had never been more reluctant for a song to end, though he supposed that wasn't saying much. Draco released him and stepped back, looking at him with an expression Harry couldn't fathom.

"What?" Harry asked nervously. "I told you, I can't dance."

Draco smiled, the genuine, beautiful one reserved for Harry and Harry alone. "You were perfect," he said softly, the last word nearly drowned out as the next song, much louder than the previous, started. "Come," he said, once again weaving his fingers through Harry's. "I find crowds like this terribly stifling." Harry let himself be led around, first to the punch, where Draco poured them each a glass, then to the food cart where he carefully selected two slices of chocolate cake and then outside to the rose gardens. They twinkled with fairies and the light of real stars shining down, and Draco walked with purpose, leading Harry to a secluded bench underneath a hawthorn tree. Harry was happy to find the bench was heated, and even happier when Draco sat pressed against him. It made eating a little awkward, though the cake was good enough that it was worth the odd elbow jostle, and it only took them a few minutes to finish what Draco had brought. They sat quietly, sipping punch, looking at the sparkling bushes, listening to the faint sound of the reindeer fountain and the slightly louder sound of the band, just enjoying each other and the night.

"Did you mean what you said?" Harry asked, the words coming out before he fully thought them through.

Draco looked at him, and he had to work to remember what he had said. "When I said what?"

"About moving in together, after school," Harry said, pleased that his words came out in roughly the right order.

Draco's face remained impassive. "Do you want me to have meant them?"

Harry frowned at him. "Come on, Draco, don't play that game. Did you or did you not?" He found his stomach had reknotted itself and his hands were shaking just slightly, just enough to be able to blame it on the cold night air.

"I could have," Draco replied cryptically, and Harry wanted to hit him. "It all depends."

"On what?" Harry demanded. "And really, stop screwing around with me."

Draco smirked. "Why Harry, I'll _never_ stop screwing with you, in _any _sense of the word." His expression turned serious as he continued. "It depends on whether or not you want to live with me,"

"I'd say, since we are now, and it seems to be working out, that yes, I'd like to keep the arrangement," Harry said, entirely unsure if what he said made any sense or not.

"Then yes," Draco replied, eyes boring into Harry's, making his hands loosen on the cup he was holding, barely managing to keep from spilling it on his new robes. "I meant every word." He smiled, just a bit, just enough that only somebody who knew him very, very well would notice. "I would have meant it regardless of your answer, thought I never would have admitted it, for my sake and for yours. I'd default to a blithe comment than make you uncomfortable while simultaneously making myself seem lowly and pathetic."

Harry laughed, a bit throatily. "Draco Malfoy, not wanting Harry Potter to feel uncomfortable. What a novel concept."

"Indeed," Draco replied. He took a final sip of punch, distracting Harry with how his lips formed to the cup, and put it down. "Are you about done with yours?"

Harry looked into his cup. It was empty, he had no idea for how long. "Er, yeah," he said, also putting his cup down. "Why? Do you want to go back in?"

"Not at all," Draco replied silkily. "Do you remember how I was nearly late to the Ball?" Harry nodded wordlessly, finding his mouth had suddenly gone dry. The look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, the way his body shifted ever so slightly to turn towards Harry's, meant only one thing. "I was, in fact, right here, at this very bench. Do you know why?" Harry shook his head. He had to physically force his hands to not start running over Draco's body, to not dip below his shirt, or down into his pants. It was nearly impossibly difficult. "Well," Draco said, sliding onto his lap, causing Harry to moan quietly. "I was casting a series of spells. To keep the bench warm, to make sure nobody else took our spot—I scouted it out, you know—to make sure nobody would interrupt us, to make sure nobody could hear us." Harry's hands had found their way to Draco's hips, slipping beneath his cloak to rest on just the fabric of his pants. Draco rested his arms on Harry's shoulders, wriggling deliciously until he decided he was comfortable. "We could do anything," Draco whispered, breathing into Harry's ear, licking a line down to the lobe, nibbling at the soft flesh. "Anything at all, and nobody would know."

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	42. Chapter 42: Alès, France

**A/N:** Sorry this is up so late! I didn't get back from vacation until six-thirty, and then I had a family crisis to deal with. Both my parents are in the ER (Dad's fine, we'll see about Mom) and what with the ambulance and the chaos and such, things got pushed back a bit, and also I was more absentminded than usual, and nearly forgot to post at all. Plus I'm so exhausted it feels like it's around midnight, so I wasn't going to put it up at all since I don't like to publish that late, but lo and behold, it's only eight-thirty. I sense an early night for me.

This is probably a given considering what I just said, but this chapter didn't get the standard pre-posting last-minute edit. I'm still (literally, I can barely type) shaking, and I'm just not up for it. Any and all mistakes are entirely my fault.

Aaaaand…there was something I was supposed to sayyyyyy…Dammit. Um. OH RIGHT! Okay, so I've been rereading PoA in the bathroom, and I flipped open to a random page and started reading, as I am wont to do. I was greeted with this particular gem from our lovely potions professor: _"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig."_ Really, Severus? Really? Apparently, yes. Really.

Anyway, I'm home from vacation, life is normalizing (roughly speaking) and updates should return to normal, somewhere between two and five, maybe as late as six if I'm being particularly bad. There is a _whole_ bunch of holiday fluff (and some smut!) heading your way, so prepare yourself! And, as always, enjoy!

**Chapter Forty-Two:**

_**Al**__**ès, France**_

Harry woke up in the middle of the night knowing exactly what to get Draco for Christmas. He carefully slipped out of bed, pulled on a pair of boxers and jeans and his invisibility cloak, slipping the key to the room into his pocket, and left as quietly as he could. Draco often had a sort of sixth sense about when he got out of bed, but Harry heard no signs of him waking up. He walked to the Owlery and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself; again having forgotten the room was essentially outside. He took out a sheet of parchment and the Self-Inking Quill and quickly penned a letter. Brian flew down and waited patiently for Harry to finish, nibbling on the owl treat Harry had grabbed from Draco's stash. He tucked the note into an envelope and hesitated before addressing it. Brian hooted impatiently and Harry scrawled six words on the envelope; not a name, but instructions. He tied the envelope to Brian's leg and rubbed behind his ears.

"Do you understand what I want?" Harry asked. "If you can't find them, don't worry. And remember I'll be at Draco's villa in France, not here."

Brian hooted again and took off. Harry watched his owl fly out the window, stomach twisting nervously. He had no idea if Brian would be able to find who he was looking for, never mind if what he needed was available, but if the stars aligned, if everything happened perfectly, he couldn't imagine a better gift. He threw his cloak over himself and returned to their room, the sphinx letting him in without a word despite his invisibility, and quickly undressed and returned to bed, all without waking Draco. Harry smiled to himself. If, _if_, this worked, it would be brilliant.

Draco woke up him far too early. Harry grumbled, pulling the blankets over his head, ending up in a tug of war with Draco before he finally relented. The blankets were yanked off the bed, and there was a moment of silence.

"Why're you wearing boxers?" Draco asked.

Harry jolted. Had he forgotten to take them off the night before? He had been tired, and excited. "Er, got cold," Harry said unconvincingly. He put his glasses on and glanced around the room. Draco's luggage consisted of two trunks, one very large and one smaller, stacked neatly by the door. Harry's duffle bag was thrown open, half-filled, shoved partway under the bed.

"You got cold?" Draco repeated suspiciously. "So you put on boxers. I'd argue the point, but you have _got_ to finish packing."

"Warm for France, cold for Switzerland, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're brilliant, Harry. Now get out of bed and get a move on."

Harry grumbled, but did as he was asked. By the time he was done he had missed breakfast, which, Draco reminded him, was his own fault for not having finished packing the night before. Ron and Hermione showed up just as Harry was finishing, all their luggage in Hermione's expandable purse. They came with the news that Neville and Aurora were meeting her mom in Hogsmeade at ten so if they wanted to walk together, they'd have to leave in the next five or ten minutes. Draco commented snidely about how he had been ready since yesterday afternoon, while Harry hurriedly shoved a few last things into his bag; the dress robes from the Yule Ball, though he couldn't think why he'd need them, his broom cleaning kit—both his and Draco's brooms were propped up with Draco's luggage, having been summoned yesterday—and, blocking what he was doing from Ron and Hermione, the handcuffs and lube. He zipped the bag closed, only needing a little bit of magic to make it all fit, and collapsed onto the bed.

Draco eyed him. "Have you got your bathing suit?"

Harry groaned. "For the hundredth time, yes."

"And your wand."

Harry took it out of his pocket and waved it around, sending sparks cascading across the room.

"Christmas gifts?"

Harry's stomach jolted. Brian hadn't returned yet, but that was hardly surprising. "Er, yeah. Definitely," Harry said.

"Alright then." Draco hovered the duffle bag over to his trunks and enchanted everything down to pocket size. He tucked it into his travelling cloak and turned to Harry. "Ready, my love?"

Harry heaved himself to his feet. "Yeah, let's go."

Harry was delighted to see Thestral carriages waiting at the front of the castle. McGonagall must have realized how many students were of age and were apparating out from Hogsmeade and provided transportation. They ran into Neville, Aurora and Luna on the front steps, hugging goodbyes.

"Are you not coming to Hogsmeade with us?" Hermione asked Luna.

"No, I'm staying at Hogwarts for the holidays," Luna said serenely. "I love the castle when it's so empty; it's like being in another world."

Harry wasn't sure how that differed from her everyday outlook, but nevertheless gave her a hug and said goodbye, as did everyone else. She floated back inside and the six of them squeezed into a single carriage. Once they were settled, Flitwick, who seemed to be in charge, patted the Thestral firmly on the rear, and they were off.

They arrived at Hogsmeade with a good ten minutes to spare. They settled on a group of benches, spirits high, talking about holiday plans. Neville's were potentially the most exciting, since he had never been to America at all, let alone the United States, though Harry protested he had been to neither France or Switzerland, arguing that two new countries outweighed a new continent. Draco seemed above their bickering, stating that he had been to places that weren't even on the map, though he was mostly ignored. Ron was a bit nervous about spending a whole week in Muggle London, though Hermione assured him there was plenty to do and, if all else failed, they could always go to Diagon Alley.

At exactly ten Aurora's mom apparated in front of them. Harry thought she looked remarkably like her daughter; the same long, dark, curly hair, the same bone structure, though her eyes were bright blue instead of green. After introductions and goodbyes, Neville, Aurora and her mom disapparated, popping out of existence. Harry, Ron and Hermione hugged goodbye, though they'd be seeing each other much sooner than Neville and Aurora, while Draco stood awkwardly, stating formal goodbyes instead of physical contact, and treating their friends as no more than mere acquaintances. Ron and Hermione left first and Draco checked his pockets one last time to make sure he had everything.

"What about Capry?" Harry asked, having noticed the bird's absence only when he had seen Crookshanks sitting on Hermione's lap.

"He left last night," Draco said. "I note Brian is not with us, either."

"Er, no, I sent him out already," Harry said vaguely.

"When you disappeared in the middle of the night?" Draco asked.

He hadn't escaped as quietly has he had thought, then. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was, until you left. I barely saw you at all before you disappeared under your cloak," Draco said. "But I decided, given the season, not to inquire further."

Harry flushed. "A good plan. Are we ready, then?"

Draco held out his arm. "Whenever you are."

Harry took a deep breath, grabbed Draco's arm, and surrendered himself to the feeling of apparition. He landed with a small thump, and Draco stepped sideways, hand going to Harry's shoulder and stepping on his foot.

"Sorry," Draco said, sounding a little embarrassed. "I started thinking of the front door and the back door at the same time and nearly spliced us."

"Brilliant," Harry said, never happier to be whole. He had seen what splicing had done to Ron, had seen how painful it was and how long it took him to recover, and he was not keen on experiencing it himself.

"Don't sulk, you're fine," Draco snapped, removing himself from Harry's personal space. "You can open your eyes, you know, and look around."

Harry did. The villa in front of him was heavily inspired by Spanish architecture; for all he knew, Spain could be just around the corner, he hadn't actually asked Draco where they were going beyond "south" and "France" and "villa". It was light tan with several rectangular wings sticking out from the sides. An arched patio stood in front of the villa and a balcony sat on the second floor, taking advantage of the part of the roof not covered by the second floor. They were standing on a tiled pathway that circled a perfectly manicured lawn, leading down a curving driveway that was obscured by trees. And, behind the villa, Harry could see a cliff dropping off into the ocean

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" Draco said smugly. "It was commissioned by my great-great-great-great-great grandfather in the 18th century. Everything is original; the building, the furniture, all of it. The only addition is the hot tub by the pool, which my grandmother had installed in the 1940s. And we've modernized the kitchen and bathrooms over the years, of course."

"Exceptionally brilliant," Harry said, striving and falling far short of Draco's particular brand of snobbery. Besides, it really was.

Draco ignored him and pulled off his travelling cloak and draped it over his shoulder. The weather was just slightly chilly but certainly not enough to need a cloak. Harry took his cloak off as well, and Draco held out his arm.

"Shall we?"

"Go ahead, then, give me the tour," Harry said with a bit of a smile.

"You should be honored to be here," Draco said huffily. "Our family doesn't like to advertise this location and hardly anyone has been here. It's not as remote as the Alps, of course, but you'll see that when we get there. Oh, and just so you aren't surprised, we've got a house elf. She's shy and stays out of sight so don't worry about it, but if you see something lurking around corners, it's probably her. I'll introduce you once we get inside, though, so she doesn't raise an alarm if she sees someone she doesn't recognize."

"Er, okay," Harry replied. He had a history of good relations with house elves, but he thought any elf of the Malfoys would perhaps not be so amicable.

"Come on, then," Draco said, leading him through the double doors. They stood in a giant foyer, a double staircase in front of them, a wide open living room on the right and a hallway to the left. A chandelier hung from the two-story ceiling, the tiny crystals shimmering in the light. "Daisy!" he yelled. "Come out here!"

With a loud crack a house elf appeared in front of them. She was on the small side, though her ears made up for it. Wide eyes, long nose and clad in a pillowcase, she looked every bit the part.

"Yes, Master Malfoy," she squeaked. "Daisy is here."

"This is Harry Potter," Draco said. "We'll be here for the week."

"Yes, Master," she agreed. "Madam Malfoy owled Daisy ahead of time, to let her know."

"Oh, excellent," Draco said lightly. He took their miniature luggage out of his pocket, waved his wand to return it to full-sized, and added, "Take these to the master suite, and have lunch ready by noon."

Harry flinched at the way Draco ordered her around. Thank Merlin Hermione wasn't here.

Daisy hopped from one foot to the other, tugging nervously at her ears. "The master suite?" she squealed. "That is reserved for Master and Madame Malfoy. Daisy was told to never let anyone else inside."

Draco frowned. "Are you talking back to me?" he snapped. "Do you _see_ Father or Mother here?" Daisy shook her head miserably. "Do as I say and if you talk back to me again, it'll be the cane for you. Unpack, too."

Daisy squeaked again, pulling even harder on her ears. "Yes, Master." She put her hand on the luggage and disappeared.

Draco turned to Harry, looking confused. "Why are you so upset? Did you want something else from her? Or is the villa not to your liking?"

"No, no, it's not that," Harry stammered. "Well, er, did you have to be so mean to her?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Mean? I don't know what you're talking about; I didn't even yell at her, let alone dole out any punishment."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "You could have thanked her," he suggested.

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "_Thanked_ her? She's a house elf, Harry, nothing more. Come on, I want to give you a tour."

Harry let it go, at least for now, and followed Draco throughout the villa. It was beautiful, he had to admit that, and very old world. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about sitting down on the antique furniture, or eating off three hundred year old china, never mind sleeping in the 18th century bed, regardless of who usually occupied the master suite. Even the bathrooms were intimidating, especially the one off their bedroom; there was a huge shower, a bathtub that looked nearly pool-sized itself, and the sinks were made out of Italian marble, Draco was pleased to tell him. Harry was most impressed by their balcony, which overlooked the ocean, as well as the pool, hot tub, patio and gardens in the back yard. Draco opened the double doors, letting an ocean breeze fill the room.

"It's wonderful, is it not?" Draco said, standing next to Harry on the balcony, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning his head on his shoulder. "I don't get to come here very often without my parents, and it's sublime." He turned to Harry, taking his hips and directing him so they were facing. "What would you like to do first?" Draco asked. "We've got an hour until lunch, I believe. We could go for a dip in the pool, or a soak in the hot tub, or perhaps a fly over the ocean. The entire property as well as a good part of the ocean around here is covered with concealment charms, so we won't be bothered.

"Or," Draco said, pulling Harry closer, "you could give me that shag you won. Have you decided where you'd like to have me, now that you've had the grand tour?"

Harry flushed. "Er, no, not yet."

"You'll have to hurry up with that one, I'm afraid," Draco said softly. "I suppose I can wait until after lunch, but we've got an entire French villa at our disposal and I won't be kept at bay for long. What would you like, then?"

"A nap?" Harry suggested. "Since _someone_ kept me up late _and_ woke me up early?"

Draco frowned. "You're no fun at all. But fine, if you insist. _Daisy!_"

The house elf appeared in front of him. "Yes, Master Malfoy?"

"Harry and I will be taking a nap," he said. "Wake us when lunch is ready."

"Yes, sir," Daisy squeaked. "Anything else, sir?"

"What are we having?" Draco asked, brushing past her as he walked back into the bedroom.

Daisy struggled to keep up with him. "Salmon and watercress quiche, sir. Daisy knows how much Master likes salmon."

"Fresh from the market this morning?"

"Yes, sir, of course, sir."

"Very good, you can go."

"Yes, sir," she said, and vanished.

Draco turned to Harry, who had followed him into the room. "Was that better?" he asked, clearly humoring Harry. "Was I nice enough for you?"

"Um, mostly," Harry said. He let out a huge yawn and had to force himself to undress before collapsing onto the extremely comfortable bed. "Mm," he sighed. "This is delicious."

Draco lay down next to him, smiling. "It is, isn't it? That's the other thing we've kept modern, the mattresses."

Harry was almost asleep when he had a revelation. "Draco, wait, did you send Daisy to a Muggle market?"

Draco laughed. "No, of course not. There's an island about five miles out to sea for wizards only. Île de Caché. We'll go tomorrow; I'll show you around and we can do some Christmas shopping. I assume you are in need of shops?" Harry nodded. "Myself as well. I haven't a clue what to get all those Weasleys. And despite the fact that Father cannot receive gifts, I still want to get him something."

Harry groaned. Another impossible gift to find. Still, before he could worry too much, he was asleep.

A light knock on the door woke Harry. He felt remarkably refreshed; despite how little sleep he got last night, never mind the whole previous week; it seemed it only took an hour in France to feel better.

"What is it?" Draco grumbled.

The door cracked open. "Lunch is ready, sirs."

"Thanks," Harry said.

Daisy squeaked. "Sir _thanked_ Daisy?" she asked, awed.

Harry sighed. It hadn't even occurred to him not to. "Er, yeah," he said awkwardly.

"Go on, Daisy," Draco ordered. "He didn't mean anything by it. We'll be down shortly."

"Yes, Master," she said, still sounding amazed, closing the door behind her.

"Why would you do that?" Draco whined, pulling himself out of bed. "Now she's going to _expect_ such treatment. You've ruined everything."

"Well you're an insufferable prat," Harry replied.

He and Draco dressed quickly and had a delicious lunch. Daisy was quite a good cook, and the fish was deliciously fresh. They spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around, going for a swim in the heated pool, and finally a short fly. Harry had never flown over the ocean before, or even with Draco outside of Quidditch, and he found he liked it very, very much. Capry had arrived while they were out, and they found him asleep on their dresser upon their return. Dinner was, again, delicious, and Harry ended up choosing the hot tub for their inaugural shag. They stayed in the tub for quite some time afterwards, the air around them getting colder and the water keeping them warm creating a delightful contrast. They ended up staying up late again, going for a second, then third inauguration before finally falling asleep.

The next day they flew out to Île de Caché. The island was small—they couldn't quite see it all from the air, but it was close—and, Draco informed Harry, had a year-round population of about five thousand. However, they were in the middle of tourist season, so the cobbled streets were pleasantly crowded. The town was decorated for the holidays; garlands and wreaths hung everywhere as well as twinkling candles, even in the light of day. Snow was sprinkled on the rooftops, despite it being at least twenty degrees above freezing, and a fully decorated Christmas tree stood in the middle of the town square.

Their first stop was a bookshop, Livres Mythiques, where Harry found a book on the history of wizarding in France for Hermione, as well as one debating the reality of several supposedly mythic beasts for Luna. Draco, very begrudgingly, got Hermione a book on numerology. From there they went to Fleurs du Paradis and combined their resources to get Neville a very rare hybrid orchid that produced something Harry took to be very magical, though Draco couldn't properly translate for him. And, without any prodding from Harry at all, Draco got Luna a small Dittany of Crete plant. They stopped by Cerises et Chaudrons and each bought Aurora a sizeable quantity of ingredients available only in France, and Cirque de Curiosités where Harry found a modified Sneakoscope for Ron that, instead of spinning when it sensed danger, screamed warnings in Old French. Draco was extremely reluctant to get anything for Ron but eventually settled on a single King from a chess set dating back to the 16th century. At Ustensiles de Cuisine Harry found a set of self-cleaning, expandable pots for the Weasleys, which Draco insisted would be from both of them. All of these gifts were to be shipped to the proper houses Christmas morning except for the ones for the Weasleys and Hermione, since they would be seeing them on Christmas.

This left Harry with only one gift remaining, aside from Draco's—his mum. Draco still needed something for his dad, having already got his mum a new travelling brooch at Hogsmeade. These were both very stressful and difficult gifts, and they decided to tackle them after lunch. Harry had never had authentic French crepes before, and Draco insisted on taking him to what he stated firmly was the best café in the country. Harry had to admit his was exceptionally delicious, though he couldn't fully enjoy it, not knowing he still had Mrs. Malfoy's gift to get and potentially Draco's, depending on what news Brian, who had yet to return, brought him. Draco seemed just as fidgety, and Harry couldn't blame him. This was a gift that wouldn't be delivered until late September, and so whatever it was had to be something easy to describe and interesting to hear about. Draco listed off everything he thought didn't fit his criteria—books, plants, a new hawk, a cane to replace the one Voldemort broke, paintings, and especially anything Harry suggested.

Draco did, however, have an idea of where they could go to get his mum a gift. After lunch he took Harry to Bijoux de Berger, which he assured Harry had the finest wizarding jewelry, and walked him through, pointing out things he thought his mother would like. Eventually Harry decided on a delicate silver bracelet embedded with tiny emeralds, feeling a bit guilty for buying something so expensive for Mrs. Malfoy and just the pots for the Weasleys, even though he knew they would never accept anything more. Then he followed Draco into seemingly every other possible shop, Draco dismissing any possible gift as not good enough, not expensive enough and not appropriate for someone in Azkaban. Harry was a little baffled at what _could_ be a good gift, but he continued to point out ideas and have them rejected. Finally, just as it was starting to get dark, Draco declared he was giving up for the day and they flew back to the villa, where dinner was already waiting for them. Again, they spent most of the evening in the hot tub before retiring to bed.

Harry woke to an empty bed. Draco had left a note on his pillow saying that he was going back to Île de Caché and Harry was not to follow him under any circumstances. He found this equally exciting and nerve-wracking. It didn't take a genius to realize Draco was going Christmas shopping for him, which brought a stupid smile and a stomach full of butterflies, but it made him painfully aware that there was less than a week until Christmas and Brian still hadn't returned. What if he didn't find the right person? Or they didn't have what Harry was looking for? Or they wanted to negotiate, would there be time? Brian had been gone so long that and Harry was coming to the conclusion he wouldn't be able to find anyone at all and he would have to think of something else for Draco, which he was not looking forward to. Not to mention both Neville and Ron had gotten their girlfriends smaller gifts as well, another problem to add to his list.

Feeling overwhelmed and uninspired Harry got himself out of bed, pulling on jeans and an old, mostly falling apart Weasley sweater. He walked aimlessly through the villa, looking for inspiration. Draco had pointed out the original paintings; would he like something like that? Even if he would, Harry had no idea how to go about purchasing art, and thought it very unrealistic that he could find something reasonable. The same went for the antique furniture; Harry _knew_ Draco liked that, the chaise in their room proved it, but furniture seemed not only extremely impractical but also depended far too much on knowledge Harry didn't have. There were fresh flowers on each table, but he thought flowers both a cliché and for holidays other than Christmas. There were books everywhere but they were all in French, and the only books Harry knew Draco liked to read were old Muggle poetry. He didn't think Draco or Mrs. Malfoy would appreciate that anomaly being flaunted on Christmas morning, regardless of Brian's errand.

Harry ran into Daisy in the kitchen. She had two pots and a pan going, as well as a pile of diced vegetables.

"Smells delicious," Harry said.

Daisy jumped in surprise, nearly upsetting the pan. "Daisy is sorry, sir!" she squeaked. "Daisy will go now!"

"What?" Harry asked, getting between her and the door. "No, you don't have to go, I was just wandering around. I-I'm sorry, I'll leave."

Daisy's eyes widened. "House elves are not to be seen or heard, sir!" she said. "Unless they are called upon! Daisy is very sorry for getting in sir's way!"

"No, really, it's fine," Harry said, backing against the door. "You look really busy, I don't want to disturb you."

She looked at him quizzically. "Busy? Daisy is just making lunch, sir. A light soup, if that is to sir's liking."

"Er, yeah, that sounds great," Harry replied. "I'll go now." Daisy started pulling on her ears and hopping from one foot to the other. Harry sighed. "What is it, Daisy?"

She squeaked. "Sir—sir wants to know what Daisy has to say?"

"Yes?" Harry said. "I mean, it looks as though you've got something to say. If not I can just leave, don't worry about it."

Daisy pulled her ears down so far they nearly reached her waist. "Well, if sir is sure he doesn't mind…"

"I'm sure," Harry said. "And you don't have to call me sir. Harry's fine."

Daisy shook her head violently. "No! Daisy couldn't! It would be too disrespectful!"

"Okay, sir's fine, whatever you want," Harry said, trying to calm the elf. "What is it you wanted to say?"

Daisy looked at the floor as she spoke. "Daisy has noticed that sir's sweater is—" She stumbled over her words, trying to find something she didn't think would be offensive. "It is, well—"

"It's old and falling apart, yeah, I know," Harry said.

Daisy looked hugely relieved that she didn't have to say it herself. "Well, Daisy could mend it, if sir liked. Or if sir would rather replace the sweater entirely, Daisy could find him a new one."

"Oh, no, that's okay," Harry said. "I get a new one every year. My friend's mum knits them, you couldn't find it in a store."

"Then Daisy could mend it?" she asked again.

"Really, it's fine, don't worry about it," Harry replied, again backing up against the door. "I—er, I like it this way."

Daisy pulled on her ears again. "Daisy didn't mean to imply that sir's sweater was anything less than—"

"It's fine," Harry interrupted. "Really. I'll just be on my way then, yeah?" He slipped out the door before she could answer and took a deep breath. Really, if Hermione ever saw Daisy, it could quite possibly trigger a third wizarding war.

Harry resumed his wander, keeping an eye out for any gift ideas and coming up empty. Eventually he found his way outside and walked through the garden he hadn't had a chance to explore. Everything seemed to be in bloom despite the chilly weather and late month, and he didn't recognize any of the plants. He supposed if they were really as old as Draco said it was possible they had died out by now, and these were all that was left. Harry shivered. The idea did not take to him well at all. But then suddenly he rounded a corner and the ocean was right there, directly in front of him, a wrought iron railing and about five feet of pebbled walkway between him and the edge of the cliff. He walked to the edge, resting his hands on the cold metal, taking a deep breath. He could get used to having the ocean in his backyard very easily indeed.


	43. Chapter 43: The Spoiling of Draco Malfoy

**A/N:** Thanks for the kind words, guys! My mum's going to be fine, though both she and my dad are still at the hospital. I'm not sure when she'll be released; we're waiting on doctors and, well, y'know. Doctors. But I love updating and hearing from you, especially when I **reach four hundred reviews.** Holy Merlin. I don't even have words. You guys are incredible.

This chapter comes nearly warning-free. There are mentions of sex but nothing explicit, and a scene not terribly different from the one at Venus & Eros, which you guys seemed to love. There's also a lot of silliness in the form of butchering the French language and hand gestures and such. It still makes me giggle when I read it. Despite some French words and phrases, everything should be perfectly clear to those who don't speak French (i.e. me, and Harry), not to worry.

Alright, friends! I think that's all for now. Enjoy :)

**Chapter Forty-Three:**

_**The Spoiling of Draco Malfoy**_

Draco was still at Île de Caché and Harry settled himself on a stone bench just in front of the ocean, watching the few sailboats gliding gracefully through the water, a small flock of seagulls circling the shoreline, and he could make out the island, and he wondered idly what Muggles saw when they looked at it. An inhabitable, tangled forest? A marsh? Maybe just more ocean? A strong breeze fluttered his hair and pierced the holey fabric of his sweater. Daisy was right; it really did need to be repaired if he planned on wearing it; then again, Christmas was in five days, and he was sure he'd be getting a new one, and he supposed he could handle five days of chilly elbows and frayed necklines.

His eyes focused on a small dot flying over the ocean in his direction. Probably a seagull, returning to join its flock, or an owl heading for Île de Caché. But the closer it got the more Harry thought he recognized it, and then yes, he was quite sure! Brian had finally returned! He jumped up, going back to the railing, itching with nerves as Brian drew closer. After what seemed like years he landed on the railing and Harry had to steady him. He was clearly exhausted and had a very large envelope affixed to his leg. Harry's heart jumped. The envelope was big enough to hold what he wanted, but he forced his expectations down as he carried the bird over to the bench and sat down. He untied the envelope and opened it with shaking fingers. The first thing he pulled out was a note addressed to him.

_To Harry Potter—_

_You ask so much of our family, and the decision was obvious, or so I thought. But when I attempted to reject your offer your bird hounded me, refusing to leave until I changed my mind. He stayed with me for several days as I owled my sister and our cousins, trying to decide on a course of action. He was very well-behaved, aside from pecking my hand whenever I tried to pen a refusal, so you needn't worry about him being a burden._

_I was extremely surprised by my family's answers; they all encouraged me to pass it on to you, despite how long it has been in our family, and how many times we have rejected museums and collectors offers to buy it from us. It seems they think my 10__th__ great grandfather would find an excuse of love to be the one and only reason to part with any of his work._

_You are quite lucky; out of everything that has been passed down over the years, your owl found me, the one descendant with the exact piece you were looking for. Goodness knows how he did it seeing as we—and his work—are scattered all over the globe, but find me he did. I have enclosed your request along with several enchantments; only you can open the envelope (though I needn't tell you that, since you've already come this far), the parchment will not crumble any further, nor will anything bend or crease in the post. I have left it unframed; it is yours now, and you may do with it as you see fit._

_I ask only that you treat it with the greatest of respect and honor the history and life it represents. It is my deepest hope that the gift will be as appreciated as you anticipate and, if that is not the case, you will return the work to me, so I can keep it safe, and pass it on when my time comes. I will await your owl's return in the days following Christmas to hear how it was received._

_Take care,_

_Nysa Alexiou_

Harry stared at the letter for several moments before finally realizing he had gotten what he had asked for. Very, very carefully he removed the second piece of parchment, running his fingers over the page. The paper was thicker than he was used to, and rougher, but despite the age, the words were remarkably clear, as well as the date and signature in the lower left corner. Harry couldn't believe his luck; he had been certain there was no chance of this actually working, yet here he was, and here it was.

"I see you've found our gardens!"

Harry looked up, panicked, as Draco flew the last few feet to the clearing he was in. He quickly put the parchment back as carefully as he could and folded up the note and stuck it in his pocket.

"Yeah, they're great," Harry said, scooting over to make room for Draco to sit next to him. "And the view is incredible."

"Indeed," Draco replied. "What was it that held your attention so? I've been calling your name for at least a full minute."

"Nothing that you should be asking about," Harry replied, putting the envelope facedown on his lap, just in case the way his name was written gave anything away. "Just like I'm not going to ask what you were doing at Île de Caché."

"Fair enough," Draco replied. He looked Harry over and his lips turned up in a characteristic sneer. "What _are_ you wearing?"

Harry bristled. "A Weasley sweater," he said defensively. "Ron's mum knit it for me. You'll be getting one yourself, so at least try to sound grateful."

"I'm more concerned with the state of the thing than its original form. Daisy can fix it for you, just ask when she serves lunch."

"Er, no, that's fine," Harry stammered. "She already offered, but really, it's fine."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "She _offered_? What did she say to you? Did she dare to insult what you're wearing?"

"No! No, nothing like that," Harry backtracked. "No, she was really nice about it, really."

Draco continued to eye Harry, but relaxed. "If you say so. Anyway, in addition to things I cannot mention, I got us some wrapping paper and bows and such, so just leave your gifts out and Daisy will take care of it."

"I don't mind," Harry said. "I've always wrapped my own gifts, really—"

"And now they'll look better," Draco interrupted. "Just group them by recipient, label the piles, and it'll be done. And do be careful I don't see mine," he said with a glint. "I'd _hate_ to have a surprise spoiled." His sentiment did not match his words at all, and the tone he used suggested something far more illicit.

"Right, of course not."

Draco stood up and stretched. "Lunch, then?"

Harry was distracted all afternoon. He was trying to think of the best way to present the parchment to Draco. Should he have it framed? Should he leave it as is? Did it need further restorative charms? Eventually, after Draco had to physically shake him to get his attention, he decided he'd have to go to Île de Caché tomorrow and find either a historical society, or maybe the bookshop, and possibly a frame store, since he clearly didn't know what he was doing.

"What _are_ you thinking about?" Draco asked, glancing over his shoulder. "Surely your Transfiguration essay isn't _that _fascinating."

It had been Harry's idea to get a start on their homework so they wouldn't be stuck inside in the Alps, but he found it was useless; all he could think of was that parchment, leaving room for only brief spurts of attention to his homework.

"Nothing," Harry replied. "Just zoning out, I guess." They were sitting on the back porch, the pool off to the left, the gardens and then the ocean in front. "The view," he said, gesturing vaguely.

"Mhm," Draco replied. He picked up Harry's parchment. "_Human transfiguration varies greatly from the process of becoming an Animagus for several reasons_." He waved the blank paper in Harry's face. "And what _are_ those reasons?"

"I don't know," Harry snapped, taking his essay—if you could call it that—back. "I haven't gotten that far yet." He paused. "I've got to go to Île de Caché tomorrow, by the way. I'll be back for lunch, okay?"

"Ah, the real reason for your distraction is revealed. Can't think of anything other than Christmas, eh?" Draco said with a smile. "I'll meet you at the café for crepes at noon. Will you be done by then?"

Harry had no idea, but he nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Now focus," Draco said, tapping Harry's head sharply with his quill. "You were right, I don't want to get stuck doing all my homework while the snow and the mountains call for me or, more literally speaking, Allie whinnying for me."

"Allie?" Harry asked, loathe to return to his homework. "Is that your winged horse?"

"Yes," Draco said, turning back to his numerology charts. "Alati. She's great, you'll meet her in a week, now _focus_."

Harry sighed and turned back to his book, flipping back and forth between the chapters on human Transfiguration and Animagi. He ought to know this one, he'd had enough experience with both, but neither Sirius nor Hermione had explained the principals behind their actions. Or, perhaps more likely, Hermione had, and he just hadn't been paying attention. He wished for the holidays at Hogwarts when he could just copy off Hermione.

Harry took off for Île de Caché around ten. He had meant to leave earlier, but Draco had woken him up so deliciously, and then Daisy had made them both breakfast. Draco had ambushed him _again_ while he was trying to get into his cloak, so by the time he actually got out the door he was rushing enough that he nearly forgot the envelope, and then he almost left without the French/English dictionary Draco had not-so-subtly left out for him. Once everything was safely tucked in the confines of his robes he took off, relishing in the flight itself. Aside from a stray seagull that thought his broom might be food, flying over the ocean was brilliant, and he spent most of the time as close to the water as he could, watching tiny waves go by and smelling the salt air.

His first stop was the bookstore. He walked over to the counter and was greeted with a friendly, "_Bonjour_," from a young witch, probably in her twenties. She asked him something, and he flushed.

"_Parlez-vous Anglais_?" Harry asked haltingly.

She shrugged. "_Un peu_." She repeated her earlier question and Harry shrugged helplessly. He held up the dictionary and she smiled and waited for him.

"_Restauration_?" he stammered and held up a finger. "_Papier_?"

"_Ah_, _oui_." She held up a finger herself and disappeared into the back of the shop. Harry flipped through his dictionary at random, hoping something useful would show itself.

An elderly man walked behind the counter, the girl at his side. He was short and balding, and had half-moon glasses exactly like Dumbledore's. Harry's heart clenched and he tightened his grip on the dictionary.

"_Bonjour_," he said, followed by a word Harry didn't know. "_Restauration_?"

"_Oui_," Harry replied. He took the envelope out of his pocket, and then the parchment. The man reached for it and Harry handed it over, feeling very nervous. But his eyes lit up and he started speaking excitedly to the girl, pointing at the date and signature.

"Nicholas Skye?" he asked. "_Original_?"

Harry nodded. He flipped his dictionary open. "_Cadeau_."

The man answered him in French and then, very carefully, asked, "_Restauration_ spells?"

Harry nodded again. He looked through the dictionary. "_Longévité et…_ _protéger et…_"

The main waved his hand. "_Oui, oui_." He said a single word and Harry shrugged helplessly. Then he picked up the parchment and held his hands around it, like a frame.

"Oh, um, I haven't decided," Harry said before remembering that wasn't French. Again he checked the dictionary. "_Indécis_."

"_Oui_," the man said firmly. "_Oui, cadre_." He made the motion with his hands again.

"Frame?" Harry asked hesitantly, making the same motions.

"_Cadre, oui_." He handed the parchment back to Harry, who tucked it into the envelope. The man took a business card from a stack and scrawled something on it. "_Coins et Arêtes_," he said, tapping what he wrote, which said the same thing. "_Rue de Chêne_," he added carefully. He pointed to the door, then to the left, and then a right. "_Louie_," he said. He pointed to himself. "_Jean-Claude_." He tapped the paper. "_Louie_."

Harry nodded. "_Merci_."

"_Oui, oui_," the man replied. The young woman waved goodbye and Harry left, hoping he understood everything. He took a left out the front door and, thankfully, the next cross street was clearly labeled _Rue de Chêne_. He turned right and walked several blocks before finding the shop. It was very small and crowded with frame corners cascading down from the ceiling on all the walls, the center of the room taken up by stands of frames, everything from a simple, black border to ornate gold.

"_Bonjour_," Harry called out nervously.

"_Oui, bonjour_." An elderly man shambled out of a dark corner. He was even older than the other man, and walked hunched over, leaning heavily on a cane. He asked Harry something, and he shook his head.

"_Parlez-vous Anglais_?" Harry asked, knowing the answer.

The man shook his head. "_Non Anglais." _He asked Harry something else and he shook his head hopelessly. Instead he handed him the business card.

"Jean-Claude," Harry said, tapping the card, then he pointed at the man. "Louie?"

His face lit up. "_Ah! Oui, oui, je m'appelle Louie_."

Harry sighed in relief. Once again he took out the envelope and handed the parchment to him. "_Cadre_?" he tried, almost certain that meant frame.

"_Oui, et_—" Louie broke off into a stream of French, then looked at Harry and stopped. He took out his wand and gestured at the paper, nearly giving Harry a heart attack. "_Magique_?"

Harry repeated what he had told Jean-Claude. "_Longévité et protéger_."

Louie laughed; Harry's French must have been awful. He took the dictionary from Harry's hand and flipped through it. "_Non décoloration_?" he asked, pointing at a word. "_Non_ fading?"

"Not yet," Harry said. He pointed at the parchment, and then at Louie. "Can you? Er, _vous—épeler_?"

He nodded. "_Oui, oui_." He rubbed his fingers together. "Galleons."

Harry figured as much and nodded.

"_Bien. Et un cadre_?"

Harry nodded again. Louie took him by the arm and led him around the room, holding the parchment up to various frames before shaking his head and continuing on. Eventually he arrived at a wooden, burgundy frame, intricately carved with designs from the Middle Ages. "_Oui_?" he asked.

Harry slowly started to pick it up and Louie nodded. Harry examined it closely; it was beautiful and, though his history was horrible, it seemed to be inspired by roughly the same time period as the parchment. _"Oui_."

Louie smiled. "_Tres bien! Le cadre et le charme de décoloration_." He gestured around the store, and Harry thought he was asking if there was anything else he needed.

"_Non_," Harry replied.

"_Tres bien_," Louie said, leading him up to the counter. He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, scrawled something and handed it to Harry.

"A hundred and fifty galleons?" Harry gaped.

Louie shrugged. "_Décoloration est _galleons."

Harry sighed, and forked over the money. Whatever else Draco was getting, it would be small. And cheap. He looked through his dictionary. "_Quand_?"

Louie looked at his watch, tapped the glass, and held up one finger. "_Un. Oui_?"

"_Oui_," Harry replied. "_Merci_."

Louie waved his hand and Harry left. He found his way back to the town square and looked at the giant clock. It was eleven-thirty, giving him a half hour before Draco showed up. He turned in a slow circle, looking at all the shops around him. The bookstore, the apothecary, the jeweler, the Herbology shop, the cookware shop, the curiosities shop, the café. He hadn't the slightest idea where to start; in fact, he had already been through all these shops with an eye towards what Draco might like, and nothing had stood out. Eventually he went back into the bookstore, since they had been so friendly, and greeted the young woman.

"Allô," she said brightly. She pointed at herself. "Brigitte."

"Harry," he said, tapping his chest. This time he had already looked up his word and said confidently, "_Chocolaterie_?"

"_Oui,_" Brigitte replied, and said, very slowly, "_Le Chat Chocolat_. _Rue de Pin_." She pointed to the right, and then twisted her hand into another right.

"_Merci_." Harry was about to leave when she spoke up.

"_Noël_?" She paused and said, with a very heavy accent, "Christmas?"

Harry nodded. "_Cadeau_."

Brigitte's eyes twinkled. "_Ah, une fille_?" Harry looked confused, and she made a gesture evoking breasts and hips, and kissed the air. Harry flushed.

"_Non_," he replied, taking out his dictionary. "_Copain_."

She looked confused. "_Un homme_?" Harry nodded. Her eyebrows shot up, and a hand flew up to cover her mouth as she giggled. "_Tres bien. Au revoir_."

"_Au revoir_," Harry echoed and, still blushing, left. He followed her directions and found the chocolate shop without any trouble. He spent a long time, much longer than he meant, looking at different assortments of truffles, trying to puzzle his way through the French enough to understand at least roughly what he was getting. He ended up picking a box almost at random and all but ran out of the shop, knowing he was late to meet Draco. He nearly forgot to shrink the box and stick it in his pocket before he arrived at the café.

"You're late," Draco said smoothly.

Harry sat at the small table. "Yeah, sorry," he replied, extremely pleased to be speaking English again. "You shouldn't complain though, I was shopping for you."

"Still, Harry, punctuality is important," Draco said sternly. "Unless you're fashionably late, but you're not nearly high enough in society to manage that."

"Thanks," Harry huffed. "Maybe I'll just return everything, then. I can't be late for Christmas morning if I don't have anything to pack."

Draco glowered at him. "Sure, see how far withholding gifts from me gets you." Their waiter appeared and Harry merely pointed at what he wanted, not bothering to attempt to get his point across with words. The waiter nodded and left. "I already ordered," Draco said at Harry's look. "It was ten past, and I was hungry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course you did." Draco's crepe arrived a moment later, and Harry's mind wandered as Draco ate. He was still nervous about Draco's gifts; not the ones he had gotten, those he was pretty confident about, but exactly what Draco was expecting from him. "Dray?"

"Mm?" he replied, mouth full.

"You said a pile of gifts," Harry said nervously. "How many, exactly, is a pile?"

Draco snorted, nearly spewing food all over everything. He swallowed, and laughed. "However many you'd like, dear. As long as they're from you, I couldn't care less."

"My cousin…" Harry trailed off, remembering the gigantic piles of gifts that accompanied each holiday.

"Yes?" Draco asked. "What about your cousin?"

"He got piles," Harry said anxiously. "Real piles."

"Harry, really, let it go. I'd be happy with just a kiss." Draco paused. "Well, maybe not _just_ a kiss, but stop fussing. It's the holidays; you're supposed to be relaxing, not obsessing over every little detail."

Harry's crepe arrived and he found himself sufficiently distracted. "I need you to leave after lunch," he said. "I've got something to pick up."

"I could just wait for you," Draco suggested.

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to shrink it, that doesn't seem like a good idea."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm intrigued. Alright, I'll head back when we're done. Any idea when you'll get back?"

"It'll be ready at one," Harry said. "And I've still got a bit more shopping to do. One-thirty or so?"

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "I need to go to Ruelle Sombre in Paris to get something for Father. That should give me enough time, I think."

"Oh, have you finally decided on a gift?"

Draco shook his head. "No, just a store. Jourdain's; it's kind of like Borgin and Burkes, only French."

That didn't seem at all like a good idea to Harry, but he ate in silence. Draco was clever, he wouldn't buy something that would send his whole family to Azkaban, or keep his father there any longer.

"Harry, in case you were still looking for gifts for me, you should try Belle Nuit," Draco suggested. His voice was light, but Harry thought he heard something suspicious in his tone. "It's on Rue de Pin. I'll point you in the right direction."

"Been there, actually," Harry replied. "The street, rather, not the store. Since you've decreed the store, is there anything in particular you want?"

Draco's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I don't know. I'm sure you'll think of something."

Harry's stomach twisted. As if Venus and Eros hadn't been bad enough, now he needed to negotiate a sex shop in French. Unless he was wrong entirely, but he knew that expression, and Harry was quite certain that was where he was being sent.

"Coffee?" Draco asked, pushing his empty plate away.

Harry finished the last two bites of his crepe. "No thanks. I'm good."

"Alright then," Draco said, standing up. He offered a hand to Harry, who found himself pulled into a hug. Draco kissed his cheek, just longer than the traditional French greeting. "Hurry home," he whispered. "I've missed you."

Harry rolled his eyes, smiling. "Dray, I was gone two hours."

Draco sighed dramatically. "And what was I supposed to do? Socialize with the _house elf_? I did_ homework_, Harry, for _two hours_. You better rescue me."

"Yeah, by doing my _own_ work," Harry replied. He kissed Draco, stealing his lips. "Go on. I'll be back soon. Enjoy Paris."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "I _despise_ Paris," he said. Harry raised his eyebrows; that was the last thing he expected to hear. "It's so—_cheesy_. Even Ruelle Sombr_e_, the wizarding district, is so touristy, I can't stand it."

"Then have an absolutely horrible time," Harry replied.

"I'm sure I will." And then Draco vanished, apparating away.

Harry took a minute to orient himself and headed back to Rue de Pin. He had to walk considerably farther down the cobbled street, passing the chocolate shop and continuing to the very end, where the cobblestones petered out and were replaced with grass, and then a forest. The shop was on the left and, gripping his dictionary as if it was a life preserver, Harry walked inside.

Again, Harry was surprised by how bright and clean and open the store was. Even without Hermione by his side, he thought he could negotiate without outright collapsing from embarrassment.

"_Bonjour_," a young man said. He repeated the same question Harry had been asked every time he entered a store, and he was starting to think something like _Puis-je vous aider_ meant something along the lines of welcome to my store, or can I help you.

"_Bonjour_," Harry replied. "Er, _No__ël cadeau_?"

"_Ah, oui._" He asked Harry another question and Harry shook his head.

"_Anglais?_"

The man shook his head, but pointed to a display in the middle of the room. "_Cadeaux_."

"_Merci_," Harry replied, going over and inspecting the table. It was kind of cute, in a weird, sex shop sort of way. There were red and green dildos, vibrators wrapped in bows, a Christmas tree that came with instructions Harry couldn't read at all. Peppermint condoms, gingerbread lube, eggnog body paint. It was very festive, he had to admit that. But, even though he and Draco had been sleeping together for months now, he still didn't have any idea what he would like. They didn't need a new pair of handcuffs, even if they were sparkly red and fuzzy with tiny bells. Despite the dazzling array of flavors available, their supply of lube was fine. He didn't think they needed a dildo, not when they both had perfectly serviceable penises.

The young man said something, and Harry turned around. He twirled his finger in a circle, Harry thought saying he should look on the other side of the table. He started walking around it, and the man smiled and nodded.

Harry turned back to the display. This side contained gift boxes, and Harry thought he might be getting somewhere. Several of these seemed like good ideas, and he eventually decided on a small red box decorated in swirling snowflakes. It contained a travel-sized bottle of gingerbread lube, peppermint massage oil, a pine-scented candle, gingerbread scented bath salts, a Christmas wreath shaped cock ring, and a small vibrator in the shape of a Christmas tree, which, while being utterly ridiculous, caught Harry's curiosity. He was blushing, but he managed to approach the cashier with much more dignity than he had at Venus and Eros, when he made Hermione do it for him. The cashier seemed pleased with his choice, and he left without needing his dictionary once. He shrunk the box and put it in his pocket next to the chocolates before heading back to _Coins et Arêtes._

As soon as he walked in, Louie greeted him. "_Bonjour, bonjour!_" He said something else that Harry didn't catch, and he allowed himself to be led over to the counter. He said something else, and held out the framed parchment.

Harry gasped. It was beautiful. The frame was a perfect fit, and the restoration was incredible. He had thought it looked good before, but now it was so much better. The letters were blacker, the illustrations brighter, the date and signature even clearer.

"_Merci_," Harry breathed.

Louie looked very pleased with himself. He pulled his own dictionary out from under the table and said, "_Mon_ _travailler_—_Ah,_ work—best," he said slowly. "Enjoy."

Harry took out his own dictionary. "_Parfait_."

Louie smiled. "_Joyeux Noël_, 'Arry Potter."

Harry jumped. This was the first time he had been recognized in France; perhaps the French were just being polite and not mentioning anything, or maybe this elderly man was really the first to know his face. Either way, he found that, this one time, he didn't mind so much.

"_Joyeux Noël_," Harry repeated, and left. He started the walk back to the broom rack and, on a whim, ducked into a clothing store he didn't see the name of. "_Bonjour_," he said unthinkingly, the greeting echoed back to him by a middle-aged witch. He walked through the shop, not seeing what he was looking for. He returned to the front counter. "_Soie…manteau…argenté_?"

The witch considered. "_Oui_," she started, adding something else. Harry followed her to a rack he must have missed and watched as she flipped through the cloaks. She pulled one off the rack and held it up, asking something in French. The color was ideal, a shining silver that would surely set off Draco's hair, skin and eyes perfectly. He reached out and touched the fabric; the silk was incredibly luxurious, and the lining, though Harry didn't recognize the material, was very soft, and felt quite warm.

Harry consulted his dictionary. "_Doublure_?" he said, asking about the lining.

"_Cachemire_," she said slowly, enunciating well enough that Harry could look it up. Cashmere. That certainly sounded fancy, something Draco would like. "_Anglais? Espagnol? Italien?"_

Harry's heart jumped. "_Oui, Anglais_."

"You should have said so," the witch said. "I am fluent in many languages. I am holding a Christmas gift, yes?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"It is a fine cloak," she said. "Worthy to be under any Christmas tree. Silk, with cashmere lining. Very warm, very elegant." She eyed Harry. "This is for Draco Malfoy, yes?"

Harry felt his heart speed up. How would she know? "Yes," he said, hand sneaking towards his wand.

"Do not look so startled, Harry Potter," she said. "Not many on this island read _The Daily Prophet_, but I find it wise to keep up with the news in all wizarding communities. I have seen your face in the paper, along with that of the Malfoy boy from the mainland."

"Oh," Harry said. That shouldn't have been so surprising. Still, he kept his hand near his wand, just in case.

"I have supplied the Malfoys with many clothes," she said, "and this will be very much appreciated, I think. That boy, he is _coincé_, but he will look fine in this. I will give you the same discount I give Mrs. Malfoy, for her generous patronage."

"I, er—" Harry stammered. The shock of being recognized yet again, and in connection with Draco, had surprised him enough that he had almost forgotten what he was there for.

"Unless you do not like it," the witch replied. "I mean no pressure. Perhaps we can find something else, or perhaps this is not the store for you."

"Is it too—swishy?" Harry asked.

She frowned. "Swishy? I do not understand."

"Like—" he stammered. "I don't know, feminine?"

The corners of her mouth turned up just slightly. "No more than Mr. Malfoy."

Harry flushed. He wasn't sure if that answered his question or not, nor what Draco would think of the statement. But the cloak was beautiful and, even though it absolutely decimated his budget, he thought Draco would like it very much. "Alright," he said. "I'll take it."

"Very good."

Draco was still gone when Harry got back. He quickly gathered his gifts, the wrapping paper and bows Draco had laid out on the dresser, and made neat piles in the living room. Feeling very guilty, and somehow knowing that Hermione would find out, he called for Daisy.

She appeared in front of him. "Yes, sir?"

"Can you—er, would you mind wrapping these?" Harry asked.

"Not at all, sir! Who are they for, sir?"

"Here, I brought labels," Harry said, ripping a piece of parchment into pieces and scrawling Weasley Family, Ron, Hermione, Draco and Mrs. Malfoy on each one.

"Daisy will do Master Malfoy's gifts first, in case he comes home," Daisy said. "Would sir like cards, or does sir plan to use his own?"

"It's fine," Harry said. "Just, y'know, make sure I know who they're for? If that's okay?" It felt so unnatural to ask a house elf for help, and he couldn't help imagining Hermione yelling at him the whole time.

"Of course, sir! Whatever sir wants!"

Harry looked guiltily at the elf. "You don't have to do this, if you don't want to."

Daisy smiled. "Daisy is very good at wrapping gifts, sir. She is not proud, because that would be unbecoming, but she does a fine job. And," she squeaked, dropping her voice even quieter, "she likes it very much."

Harry smiled. "Alright then. Go ahead, have fun."

Daisy pulled her ears. "Daisy is not to have fun, sir. Daisy is to get work done."

"Then by all means get to work," Harry said kindly.

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!"

Harry left her alone and got out his homework. Now that his shopping was done and Draco wasn't here to distract him, he thought he could actually get some work done.

"I decided what to get my dad for Christmas," Draco announced, waltzing into the bedroom and collapsing all over Harry's books and papers.

Harry yanked his transfiguration book out from underneath Draco. "Brilliant," he said. "What did you find?"

"Technically, nothing," Draco said.

"Brilliant," Harry repeated, keeping his eyes on his paper. He was almost done with it, just needed to finish this paragraph. "He's going to—wait, what?"

"I'll take him out to dinner the day he gets out," Draco said. "A Christmas dinner, in September. I'm sure I can pay a restaurant to set it up."

Harry looked up. "I—okay."

"It's perfect, don't be silly," Draco replied. "Father loves nothing more than going out in society."

"The day he gets out?" Harry asked. "Don't you think he might want to go home and relax?"

Draco frowned. "Merlin's beard, I hadn't thought of that. Harry, Christ, since when are you smarter than me?"

Harry smiled slightly and turned back to his essay. "Since always."

Draco sighed dramatically. "I don't know what to do. Harry, really, I need to get him something but I can't give him anything."

"I think your presence will be enough," Harry said, quickly scrawling the last sentence and finally setting his essay aside. He looked up. "Have you asked your mum what she's doing?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "She's giving him a kiss," he said. "I think it's terribly inappropriate, given his company, but she insists he won't want anything else."

"I'm pretty sure that proves my point," Harry said. "Really, Dray, just give him a hug."

"Father doesn't like hugs," he said.

"He will when he's in Azkaban," Harry said, trying to find a way to say what he wanted to and still be delicate. "It gets, y'know, lonely."

Draco's face fell. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, you're right. Have you got a plan for him?"

"Stay quiet and out of the way," Harry said firmly. "If he wants to talk to me, fine, but unless he calls me over himself, I'm not even getting in his line of sight."

"Probably wise," Draco replied. He rolled over onto his back, once again crumpling Harry's essay. "Was your shopping more successful than mine?"

"Hopefully," he said. "Daisy actually enjoys wrapping gifts, did you know?"

Draco shrugged. "Not particularly. She does a fantastic job, though. You've had her wrap everything, then? Did you make sure to tell her that the pots are from both of us?"

"Er, no, but I think she's just going to label them with who they're for."

"Clearly you have never seen Daisy wrap anything. Come on, let's go see what she's done." Draco stood up and dragged Harry to his feet. "Where'd you leave her?"

"The living room," Harry said, and they walked down together.

Harry gasped when he saw the pile of wrapped gifts. They were _gorgeous_, Draco hadn't been exaggerating. Everything was perfectly wrapped, corners tight and flat, tiny bits of almost entirely hidden tape, beautifully curled ribbon, and—what surprised Harry the most—astonishingly penned names. Harry knew house elves could write, but before this he had only seen messy chicken scratch, much like his own. In a stroke of genius she had wrapped all of Draco's gifts in exactly evenly sized square boxes, giving him no hint at all of what was inside.

"Daisy!" Draco yelled.

The house elf appeared immediately. "Yes, Master Malfoy?"

"Add my name to the Weasleys' pots, would you?"

"Yes, sir! Right away!" She took the gift over to a desk by the window and bent over it, obscuring her actions.

"Daisy, these are beautiful," Harry said. "Really, I couldn't ask for anything more."

He heard her trademark squeak. "Thank you, sir. Daisy does what Daisy is asked."

"I'll leave the gifts I bought out tonight," Draco said. "After I've gotten Harry in bed and tired him out enough that he won't sneak down and peek."

Harry blushed furiously as Daisy answered, "Yes, sir!"

"When will dinner be ready?" Draco asked. "And what are we having?"

"Roast chicken with potatoes, leeks and bacon," Daisy squeaked. "And it can be ready whenever Master Malfoy wants it ready. Daisy needs only ten minutes notice to get everything ready."

"Good." Harry elbowed Draco, and he sighed. "_Very _good, Daisy. I think six would suit well; Harry, do you agree?"

"Whenever," Harry replied.

"Six, then," Draco said.

Daisy ran back over and held the gift up. "Is this to Master Malfoy's satisfaction?"

Harry looked over his shoulder and saw that she had added Draco's name to the package. He couldn't imagine how she had written so beautifully so quickly, all while being ordered around. "It's perfect," Harry said.

Draco sniffed, but didn't correct Harry. "Take the gifts for the Weasleys and Hermione to the Burrow, and the gifts for myself and Mother to the Manor. They belong under a proper Christmas tree, and we haven't got one. Take mine as well, once they're wrapped."

"Yes, sir!" Daisy squeaked. She put her hands on the packages and vanished with a loud crack.

"You don't think the Weasleys might be surprised to have a house elf suddenly appear in their home?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. "They'll get over it. Come, I want to go for a swim."

The rest of their time in France was, for the most part, wonderful. They split their time between swimming, soaking, flying, visiting Île de Caché, shagging everywhere and anywhere the could think of, and doing as much homework as they could make themselves do. Harry gently prodded Draco to be nicer to Daisy and by the time they left, he was nearly civil. The Weasleys and Draco's mum had both written to say that they had received the gifts and were excited for Christmas day, Mrs. Weasley heavily implying that next time a house elf loaded with Christmas presents was to arrive in her house, she'd like some warning.

The only damper on their vacation was that, the closer it got to Christmas Day, the closer it was to their visit to Azkaban, which was weighing more and more heavily on Draco. He became snappier and his temper shortened, but even with the visit looming over him, he couldn't completely ignore the excitement of Christmas, and Harry even caught him humming a wizarding carol once, when he thought he was alone. Harry found Daisy late Thursday night and asked if she knew which of Draco's gifts were which, even though she had wrapped them all identically. She did, and he asked her to move the one from Belle Nuit to Draco's room, which she also did.

Harry woke up first the morning of Christmas Eve. He was excited, childishly so. He was also incredibly nervous about going back to Malfoy Manor. The only time he had been there was when he had been kidnapped, and that experience was not filled with happy thoughts. Draco had assured him repeatedly that the Manor would be festive and happy and he had nothing to worry about, but all Harry could remember was stone walls, the sounds of Hermione's screams as Bellatrix tortured her, and the knife that had killed Dobby. Still, it was Christmas, and his worries couldn't completely dampen his spirits.

He conjured a clock; ten in the morning. That gave them a good three hours before their promised arrival at Malfoy Manor. At Draco's absolute, finite, ineffable insistence they had packed the night before and Daisy had already moved their luggage and brooms to the Manor, passing them off to the house elf there to unpack. Harry smiled to himself. With none of their things here, that gave them three hours of empty, uninterrupted time to themselves. The last three hours they would have entirely to themselves.

Harry kissed Draco's shoulder. Then the bottom of his neck, then his ear, then his cheek. Draco stirred beneath him.

"Hmm?" Draco mumbled.

"Three hours," Harry whispered. "All to ourselves, without a single person to hear us.

"Mm," he sighed, pushing back against Harry.

"I have an idea," Harry breathed.

"Hmm?" Draco asked.

Harry whispered something into his ear, and Draco smiled.

"Mm."


	44. Chapter 44: Malfoy Manor

**A/N:** Hey there! Again, thanks for all the kind words about my family; everybody's fine now and home from the hospital. Besides, I've had my story, MythBusters and the new Taylor Swift CD (it's brilliant, go buy it this second) to keep me company, so I'm all good :)

**Warning:** there is a sexual scene here between two consenting, of-age boys. I don't consider it explicit enough to warrant moving to Google Docs, but feel free to avert your eyes if you'd rather not read it.

Aside from that, we've got a good mix of silliness, fluff, Draco being a prat, magical creatures (get out your copies of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ if you haven't got it memorized already :P), and some seriousness going on. Enjoy, my friends!

**Chapter Forty-Four:**

_**Malfoy Manor**_

Draco apparated them to Malfoy Manor. As soon as Harry's feet hit the ground he knew something was wrong. He couldn't stand; his legs didn't seem to be working at all. Had he been spliced? Is that what this was? Waving his arms wildly to try to keep balance, he glanced at Draco, who was in the same position. Harry's legs gave out entirely and he fell hard onto the stone ground. Draco managed to continue to stand, but he had been clever enough to grab the wrought iron gate and was holding himself up with that. Harry noted the garlands adorning the gate with something like wonder. It was decorated, but they still got jinxed? That seemed odd to him, no matter how much his rational brain told him that holidays were holidays and jinxes were jinxes and they weren't related in any way.

"What—"

"Jelly Legs," Draco interrupted. "It must be part of Mother's new protection charms."

"You can reverse this, right?" Harry asked, watching as his legs danced in front of him. "And get us inside?"

"Um…" Draco jerked as his legs spasmed particularly hard. "Maybe. I don't know what Mother has done. And, um, I don't know the counterspell."

Harry desperately thought back to fourth year when he had been practicing for the Tri-Wizard Tournament and Hermione had jinxed him through his shield charm. Eventually she had found the counterspell, but for the life of him he couldn't remember it. "Have you got a way of telling your mum we're here?" he asked.

"Maybe," Draco replied. "Like I said, it depends what she's done." He paused. "Wait, no, I don't have my things. No quill, no parchment, no note." He slowly lowered himself to the ground, unable to continue to stand even with the gate to help him. "Um. Hmm."

That was the most times Harry had heard Draco so lost for words, and it made him nervous. He took out his wand, taking matters into his own hands. "I'm sorry about this," he said.

Draco looked at him. "Sorry about what?"

"This. _Reducto!_" Harry pointed his wand at the biggest of the windows of the Manor, a two-story affair, but the spell just bounced off a shield of some sort, and Harry ducked very, very quickly. The jet of light continued and hit a tree behind him, bursting it into pieces.

"I told you, protection spells," Draco said, trying and failing to use his hands to steady his legs. He gave up and leaned back against the gates. "Well, Mother knows we're supposed to arrive at one. She'll come out to fetch us. Or send an owl, or something. Probably she'll remember about the spells and disarm them, eventually."

"Eventually," Harry repeated. He shuffled around so he was leaning against the gate as well. "Brilliant."

"Yeah," Draco replied, all of his usual bravado gone. "I probably should have owled her first."

"Probably?" Harry echoed.

"Oh, shove it."

They sat for a few minutes before Harry had an idea. "Can you call for your house elf?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Maybe. It depends on the protection spells. _Sunny!_"

There was a familiar crack and the elf appeared in front of them. Harry had never been more grateful to see a house elf, aside from when Dobby appeared in the Malfoy's basement. In contrast to Daisy, Sunny's ears were downright small, but her nose was gigantic, even bigger than Kreacher's and, of course, she wore the trademark pillowcase.

"Yes, Master Malfoy?" she squeaked.

"Get Mother," Draco snapped. "_Now_."

"Yes, sir," she said, and vanished.

"Don't even start with me," Draco said, turning to Harry. "I'm in no mood to entertain your notions of the treatment of house elves. I'm pissed, and it's just an elf."

Harry remained silent; it was the wisest course of action when Draco was in a mood. Not that Harry could blame him; if he showed up at Grimmauld Place and was jinxed before he even stepped through the doors, he wouldn't be thrilled, either.

A second later Mrs. Malfoy appeared in front of them. "I'm so sorry," she said, uttering the counterspell, stilling their legs. "I completely forgot you didn't know about the new spells. Can you stand now?"

Harry got to his feet shakily, using the gate as support. "Yeah," he said. "Mostly."

Draco remained on the ground. "I don't particularly feel like trying," he said, sounding like a small child. Harry kicked him, and Draco looked up, furious. "Don't fucking _kick_ me!"

"Draco!" Mrs. Malfoy admonished. "Language! If you're going to swear, at least don't stoop to Muggle levels. Now on your feet, and not another word on the subject." Draco sighed hugely and dragged himself to his feet, Harry noting that his legs didn't wobble once. "Now give me your hands, both of you." She took Draco's hand, tapping the inside of his wrist three times and muttering something under her breath. She repeated the action with Harry. "That should get you through the gates. Go on."

Draco tried the gates and found they opened smoothly. "I'm not going to get jinxed again when I walk through, am I?"

Mrs. Malfoy glared at him. "Stop it. Walk yourself into the Manor, and do it now. Don't make me yell at you again before you've even gotten inside, never mind on Christmas Eve."

Draco proceeded without another word, Harry trailing behind him. He would have thought Draco would have even higher standards of manners around his parents, but it appeared not. Mrs. Malfoy followed behind, muttering a spell as the gate closed, and swept past them, leading the way to the Manor. Harry looked around as he walked; the lawn was large and sweeping, trees growing in clusters around the property. And yes, Harry did see a white peacock, but only one. The pathway was lined with hedges sprouting vibrant red, very poisonous looking berries.

The Manor itself was incredibly impressive. It was stone, tall and wide with towers on each side. Harry felt his nervousness come flooding back, the wreath on the door and the lights twinkling around the windows doing nothing to ease his discomfort. As far as buildings went, this was as imposing as they came. Draco dropped back slightly so he was at Harry's side and took his hand.

"Relax," he said quietly. "This is my home, I promise nothing will hurt you." He paused. "Again, I mean." He paused again. "Let me go into my room first, by the way. And don't touch anything until I tell you it's safe."

Harry's stomach twisted. "Right."

Mrs. Malfoy opened the front door and Harry saw that Draco was right, at least partially. The front hall was festive; a two-story tall Christmas tree stood filled with glittering lights and delicate ornaments, and garlands around the double staircase banisters. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, rendering the hall well-lit, but Harry still felt a sense of foreboding, though he couldn't place his finger on why.

"Lunch will be ready in half an hour," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I'll let Draco give you the tour while I disarm a few things."

"Er, right," Harry said. Maybe it was that everything needed to be disarmed and even though he had been invited in, the Manor itself was rejecting him.

"Come on," Draco said, pulling on his hand and leading him upstairs. "I can't wait to get back to my own room," he sighed. "Our room at Hogwarts is fine, and the villa is lovely, but my room is _mine_." They turned right at the top of the stairs and walked the full length of the hallway to a door on the very end. Draco touched his wand to it. "_Alohamora Draconius_," he said, then put his hand on the knob. Harry heard something click, and Draco opened the door. "Don't come in yet, give me a minute."

Harry stood apprehensively, trying to look into his room, but it was like seeing everything through a shimmering fog. He could hear that Draco was talking but not what he said, and he thought he might have seen a wand in the air, but he couldn't be sure. He shuffled his feet, trying to calm his stomach. It was okay, he had been invited here, he was welcome. Nobody was trying to kill or torture him and his friends. He was safe. Really.

Suddenly the fog vanished and Harry could see in. He remained at the door, not keen on getting jinxed again, but he looked around. The room was very large, dominated by a gigantic oak bed, dressed out in Slytherin green and silver. Next to the bed were bookcases, stretching the length of the wall. A dresser stood against one wall, a vanity next to it—which Harry found more than a little amusing, especially given all the products neatly arranged on it—and a closet lurked in a corner. A second door stood next to it, and Harry assumed it led to a bathroom. The wall opposite him had a large panel window, another above the bed and a final one over the dresser. These were all covered in the same shimmering charm and he couldn't see the view.Harry could see the marks on the carpet beneath the window where the chaise had been and was somewhat amazed that the Room of Requirement had managed to fetch something out of a Manor this well guarded. A heavily modified TV pointed at where the chaise had been, now projecting at nothing but a blank wall and window.

Draco put his hands on his hips and turned in a slow circle. "Alright," he said finally. "You should be fine. Come in."

Harry hesitantly stepped in, completely convinced that Draco had forgotten something and he was going to get sucked into the floor or hit with a stinging jinx or _something_. But nothing happened, and he walked the rest of the way into the room. The door closed with a flick of Draco's wand. A Slytherin banner hung on one wall, a Malfoy crest next to the bed and, Harry was surprised to see, a Quidditch poster. Somehow that didn't seem fancy enough for Draco's room.

"Well?" Draco demanded. "What do you think?"

"It's very you," Harry said. "Very Slytherin, very Malfoy."

"Of course it is," Draco huffed. "What were you expecting? Gryffindor banners everywhere?"

"No, of course not," Harry replied, feeling very judged. And with that, he could put his finger on everything that felt strange about being in the Manor: it seemed that he was constantly being judged; by Draco; by Mrs. Malfoy; by the antique furniture and original paintings; by the building itself. "It's great, Dray. Really."

Draco walked over and put his hands on Harry's hips. "I sense hesitance," he said. "What can I do?"

Harry smiled. The fact that Draco was even asking was enough to ease the knot of anxiety, at least a little. "Nothing, it's fine."

"Come here," Draco said, taking his hand and leading him to the dresser. He opened the bottom door and Harry was very surprised to see his clothes neatly put away, folded into appropriate piles. "Your cloak is in my closet and your schoolwork in the trunk at the end of the bed. I told Sunny to unpack, even though we're only here for one night. I thought it would make you feel more at home. I—" He broke off. "Well, the last time you were here, I just wanted to make it better than that."

Harry stood up for a kiss. "That you don't have to worry about," he said firmly. "Also, I'm not going in your basement."

Draco smiled tightly. "Fair enough. And remember, I did save your life."

"Just shut up, would you?" Harry said. "The last thing I want to do is talk about that day."

Draco nodded. "How very wise. Now come here, feel how wonderful my bed is. It's even better than the villa." He sat on the edge, patting the seat next to him. Harry sat next to him and it felt like he sunk several feet into the mattress. It was soft, and comfortable, and he thought sleeping on it would be heavenly, but he wasn't confident about having sex on such a soft, malleable surface. And he did plan on having sex this night; according to Daisy, Draco's gift was hidden under the bed, and he was going to give it to him at midnight. He didn't have any idea how to ask Draco about that particular facet of his mattress, so he didn't mention it at all.

"Very nice," Harry said. "Very, very comfortable."

Draco smiled, pleased. "Good. I'm glad you think so, because this is the mattress that will be coming with us to our flat."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You think your bed will fit in the sort of flat we can afford?"

Draco stared at him. "What are you talking about? We can afford anything we want."

"I dunno, I thought maybe living off our—er, my—income might be good for us, and our savings," Harry said, stammering more and more and Draco's look became more and more incredulous.

"Hardly," he replied. "We will live in Knightsbridge and have the best of everything. And how much exactly do you expect to earn from the Auror _training_ program? I'd be surprised if you got paid at all."

Harry thought that a valid point, though he didn't particularly feel like admitting it. "Well, we'll see."

Draco smiled the infuriating smile that meant he was humoring Harry. "We will. But let us turn from such apparently difficult topics; I can think of a much better use of our time."

Harry flushed. "It's nearly one-thirty," he said, glancing on the clock on the bedside table. "We don't have time for a shag."

"First of all we do, if we did it right," Draco replied. "But that isn't what I was implying. On the contrary, I just wanted a simple snog; it's been ages since we've just kissed without moving towards an eventual goal."

"And get all hot and bothered just before lunch with your mum?" Harry asked skeptically. "That doesn't seem like—"

"Stop it," Draco said firmly. "I don't want any of your excuses. Now get over here and snog me senseless." When Harry didn't immediately respond Draco sighed impatiently and closed the distance himself, putting a hand on the back of Harry's head and pulling him to his lips. Harry couldn't help sighing; kissing Draco never got old; in fact, he suspected it got better every time. Even while his brain was telling him to stop a hand went up to Draco's face, cupping his cheek and the other to his hip, pulling him closer. He slowly took control of the situation, sliding his tongue into Draco's mouth, pulling him even closer so they were pressed together. Eventually they had to break apart for air, breathing labored.

"More," Draco said, pushing Harry back onto the mattress and sliding on top of him. He moaned immediately as his erection came into contact with Harry's thigh, and Harry couldn't help his hips from jumping up.

"No," Harry said, though his hands were everywhere, sliding under Draco's shirt and stroking his back, lightly raking his nails over the sensitive skin. "Too much. Not now."

"Just kissing," Draco affirmed. He leaned back down, tangling his hands in Harry's hair, finding his lips again. He whimpered as Harry kissed him back, biting his lower lip, licking every inch of his mouth. Their legs were still dangling off the end of the bed and they scooted further up the bed. Harry could immediately tell he was wrong; the mattress might be soft and might mold to his body, but there was nothing preventing him from grinding against Draco. He moved his hands from under his shirt to beneath his pants, squeezing and caressing his arse. Draco moaned, pushing harder against him.

"This is not just kissing," Harry sighed, not entirely moving his lips away from Draco's; he wasn't willing to sacrifice that contact for anything, not even realistic practicality. Draco tilted his head up and Harry moved to his neck, sucking and licking, leaving marks he knew were entirely inappropriate in his wake. He dipped down, sucking on his collarbone, causing Draco to whimper again. "Your mum will see."

"She's seen worse," Draco said, gasping as Harry thrust up at just the right angle. "And turtlenecks."

That seemed to settle the matter, despite the issue of their erections, flushed faces, labored breathing and mussed hair. Harry couldn't keep his lips or his hands to himself, kissing and touching every available surface while Draco lay on him, grinding gently against his leg, letting Harry take control of the kiss and everything else, just moving his hands from his hair to stroke his face and then back to his hair. Draco slipped a leg between Harry's, increasing the friction, and he moaned.

"Too much," Harry said again, though the way he was moving utterly negated his words. His hands were firmly anchored on Draco's hips, holding him in place as he thrust up. He found himself getting close and knew he should stop, really, but he didn't have enough self-control, and neither did Draco. It was as much the kissing as the friction if not more; Draco had been right, they hadn't just kissed in a long time and, even though this was much more than kissing, the focus was still on their mouths and how soft and warm and pliant Draco's lips were, how his tongue danced over his, how he tasted of vanilla and _Draco_ and how it was all going to his head, making him dizzy.

"Harry," Draco sighed. Harry could tell by how his hips were stuttering that he was just as close, if not more so. "Mm, Harry, please."

Harry's mind went even fuzzier. Draco was begging him without anything to beg for, just out of the habit of asking. He jerked up, catching Draco's lips again, kissing him desperately as the friction became too much. His fingers tightened on Draco's hips and Draco let out a long, low moan, and that was that. Harry let out a series of sharp gasps as he came and Draco continued to moan, hips moving faster and faster until he, too, came, moaning Harry's name.

Draco collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, feeling Harry's heaving chest, hearing how fast his heart was beating and how entirely exhausted he was. Harry's mind was utterly blank; all he could focus on was how Draco felt on him, how good it was to have his weight resting on him and the delicious whimpers as Harry stroked his back.

"Harry," Draco murmured. "We should change." Harry made a negative noise, wrapping his arms around Draco, holding him in place. "Really, I can see the clock, we're already five minutes late."

"Your fault," Harry managed, finding his lips again and kissing him gently. "I said it was too much, I told you to stop. You said kissing only."

"I lied." Draco sighed happily. "Mm, I never want to get up."

"Then don't."

There was a quiet knock on the door and both boys groaned.

"Don't come in!" Draco shouted. There were a series of unintelligible squeaks and, very reluctantly, he rolled off Harry. "Fine, Sunny, open the door."

It opened no more than a crack. "Madam Malfoy requests your presence in the blue dining room."

Draco sighed again. "Of course she does," he muttered. "Tell her we'll be down in a minute."

"Yes, Master Malfoy." The door closed and Draco dragged himself out of bed, leaving Harry lying on his back, still not quite able to move. He threw off his pants and boxers, wiped himself off with a tissue and redressed. Somehow he looked perfect; not a hair was out of place and there were no signs of a flush on his pale cheeks.

"Come on, Harry, I've angered Mother enough already," he said. "It's Christmas Eve, I really ought to behave better."

Harry couldn't argue that. He changed as well, trying vainly to smooth his hair, and they left Draco's room, descending the stairs holding hands.

Lunch wasn't nearly as difficult as Harry had expected. Apparently the blue dining room was small and informal, sized only for the permanent residents of the Manor. Harry had been convinced he would be sitting at the end of a table so long he'd need to shout to make conversation, no doubt the room Draco had told him was where he had been beaten. But this room had none of that; the walls were a light, sky blue, a large, picture window overlooked a pond and forest, and the chairs were comfortable, wooden seats. Garlands hung from the ceiling and a vase of Christmas flowers sat on the table. Halfway through lunch it started to snow, coating the ground in a light dusting.

"I hope your time in France was enjoyable," Mrs. Malfoy said. "The gifts you sent are under the tree, ready and waiting for tomorrow morning." She glanced almost imperceptibly at Harry as she asked, "Shopping was fun, I assume? And not too stressful?"

"Harry and I had a delightful time," Draco replied. "The shops of Île de Caché are simply bursting with potential gifts, especially this time of year."

"Yes, I'd imagine so," she replied. "I hope you didn't find the island too touristy, Harry. It can be overbearing around the holidays."

"No, it was great," Harry replied. "I mean, aside from the fact that I don't speak French."

Mrs. Malfoy started to smile, then contained herself. "The residents are not primarily bilingual," she said. "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they? I can send an owl or two on your behalf."

"No, no," Harry stammered. "Everyone was really nice. I had a dictionary, and I managed fine."

"A dictionary _I_ bought him," Draco said smugly. "He would have been lost without it."

Mrs. Malfoy frowned at him. "Don't be antagonistic, Draco. If you are to continue your relationship with Harry, you will treat him with the same dignity and respect you reserve for the rest of your family."

Harry flushed bright red and busied himself with his orange juice. Draco also blushed, though not as fully.

"Of course, Mother."

There were several minutes of awkward silence before Mrs. Malfoy spoke up again.

"I've already sent Alati and Mella to the chateau. It's a long flight, but they've done it before."

"Without Vis to guide them?" Draco asked. "Do you think that wise?"

"I see no reason it would be anything but," Mrs. Malfoy replied sharply. "Draco, honestly, what has gotten into you? You've been nothing but rude and inelegant since your arrival. Has Hogwarts had such a bad influence on you?"

Harry kept his eyes on his food, wishing with all his might he didn't have to be here for this. It wasn't that he disagreed with her; he had just had seven years to get used to Draco being a prat. Apparently this insubordination around his mum was new.

"Not at all," Draco replied smoothly. "I suppose I've just gotten used to living on my own, without anyone constantly looking over my shoulder."

"Table manners are not the same as overbearing," Mrs. Malfoy said sternly. "If you find yourself incapable of carrying on a decent conversation, Harry and I can always finish lunch without you."

_Please no, please no, please no_, Harry thought silently. He could see Draco's grip on his silverware tightening.

"That won't be necessary," Draco said stiffly. "I apologize for offending you, and I assure you my conduct will improve."

"Thank you," she replied.

There was another break in conversation.

"Harry and I are planning on moving to London after school," Draco said lightly.

Harry nearly choked. Draco hadn't already told his mum? This was what he thought of as an appropriate time, right after being reprimanded? He coughed several times, trying to remove his lunch from his lungs, causing alarmed looks.

"Harry, are you alright?" Mrs. Malfoy asked as Draco handed him a glass of water.

Harry nodded, still coughing, taking a few small sips. "I just—" he cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting Draco to, um—"

"Yes, the change in conversation was rather abrupt," Mrs. Malfoy said. "And I imagine you are trying to gauge my reaction?"

Harry continued to cough, not really needing to but wanting to answer her question even less. Draco rested a hand on his knee and squeezed reassuringly.

"I have no issue with your plans," she said. "I had suspected as much, given your situation at school. London is a fine city, and not too far from home. Do you have a plan for when you get there?"

"Auror training," Harry said before thinking it through. That couldn't be an acceptable career choice to a Malfoy, not when Mr. Malfoy was in jail, not after all the raids they had been through, raids—Harry realized with a sinking stomach—he himself might end up doing in the future.

"Working for the Ministry is a fine choice," Mrs. Malfoy replied diplomatically. "If only Draco had such things on his mind."

Draco remained impassive. "I hardly think reestablishing our reputation is anything short of a noble cause," he said. "It's about time London had a Malfoy residing within its limits."

"You are very much your father's son," she said cryptically. "He will be pleased to hear of your societal ambitions; make sure to mention it tomorrow, would you?"

Draco's hand clenched on Harry's knee. "Yes, Mother."

"Harry, perhaps not mentioning your chosen department would work in your favor," she added, then paused. "Or perhaps leaving out your career choice entirely would make for a more pleasant visit."

"Right," Harry mumbled, still looking at his food. "I don't have to go, if you think I won't be welcome. Draco offered, but—"

"Nonsense," Mrs. Malfoy interrupted. "Your presence is always welcome. I just think Lucius would prefer not to hear of the Ministry at the moment."

"Right," Harry repeated, feeling very dull and hardly welcome at all, even in this small, cheerful room, let alone on a family excursion to Azkaban.

Mrs. Malfoy set her silverware down and stood. "Would you like to see the sitting room?" she asked. "I think you'll find it more to your liking."

Harry flushed again. "Er, sure." He and Draco stood, following Mrs. Malfoy out of the door and through a series of turns Harry wouldn't ever be able to replicate on his own.

"Draco has informed me you are not used to our way of life, and I have tried to make your Christmas as comfortable as possible for you."

Harry was touched. Despite the awkwardness of lunch and the coolness of the Manor, perhaps he was welcome here. She opened a final door and they stepped inside.

Harry was downright shocked. There was a second Christmas tree, much smaller than the one in the front hall but decorated even further, with a heaping pile of gifts at its feet. The huge fireplace was already lit with a roaring fire, and stockings hung from the mantle, which had a large, festive centerpiece surrounded by photographs of people Harry didn't know but bore a striking resemblance to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Plush, comfortable couches were grouped around the fireplace and bookshelves lined the walls. Candles hung around the room, a tiny sprig of holly suspended from each one.

Mrs. Malfoy smiled. "I thought you would like it."

"It's great," Harry said. "Really, really great."

"This is lovely," Draco agreed. "Sunny really outdid herself this year."

Mrs. Malfoy's smile widened. "I believe you have your names confused," she said. "I decorated myself. I chose the tree, the ornaments, the decorations. I suppose you could say Sunny did the heavy lifting, but it was all at my direction."

Draco hugged his mum, very briefly. "The rest of the Manor looks just as festive," he said. "Even while jerking uncontrollably on the ground, I noted the garland on the gate. The tree in the foyer would make father proud, and the scent of pine is everywhere." Draco sighed, a small smile escaping. "I do love the scent of pine."

"I know you do, dear," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I would have done your room as well, but I assumed you would rather any decorating be left to you." She paused, and her face fell. "Darling, I'm sure you noticed when you went upstairs earlier, but the chaise you love so is gone. I don't know why the Ministry would feel the need to confiscate it, but when I did a sweep of the Manor after they left, it was gone."

"Oh, no, it's at Hogwarts," Draco said. "It was fetched for us. That castle is a bit brilliant, you know."

Mrs. Malfoy relaxed slightly. "That is good news indeed, though I wish you had told me. Anything else magically appear for you?"

"No," Draco replied. "Just my chaise." He turned to Harry. "Shall we return to my room and decorate, or would you rather a proper tour, or…?"

"Decorating is fine," Harry said. "I promise I'll tone myself down."

Draco grimaced. "You should have seen our room, Mother. It's like a Muggle Santa shop exploded."

Mrs. Malfoy laughed. "Good. You need extra Christmas cheer this year." She ran a hand over his hair. "Go on, then. Dinner will be late tonight; I've got quite the meal planned, and—"

Draco interrupted with a groan. "_Mother_," he complained. "Just let Sunny do it. That's why we have her, so we needn't stoop to such levels. I hate to imagine you slaving away at a stove all day."

She frowned. "I enjoy cooking," she said firmly. "And, as long as your father is away, I'll take what little comforts I can manage. Now hurry along to your room before you say anything further."

Draco sighed. "Yes, Mother." He led Harry back upstairs, opened the door with the same charm, and ushered him in. "Well, go on then," he said, sitting on his bed. "If you like decorating so much, go ahead."

"If you're sure," Harry said, pulling out his wand. "You didn't like what I did to our room at Hogwarts, and I haven't got a claim here at all."

Draco cocked his head. "Of course you do. You're mine, the room's mine, that makes the room yours, too. I think there's some principal that explains it, but I've never been one for maths. Go on, do your worst."

Harry flushed with pleasure and set about decorating. He kept everything as tasteful as he could, echoing Mrs. Malfoy's décor. He conjured a Christmas tree sprinkled with snow where the chaise usually sat and moved the TV off to the side so it could be seen properly. Garlands swirled down the bedposts, candles and holly hovered by the ceiling, and, as a final touch, Harry moved Draco's present from under the bed to under the tree where it sat, looking festive but lonely.

Draco's eyebrows flew up. "What's that?" he asked. "Why isn't it downstairs?"

Harry smiled mischievously. "It's a Christmas gift for you," he said. "It's up here because you'll be opening it tonight, after midnight."

"I see," Draco replied. He pulled out his own wand. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" His closet door opened and a flat, rectangular present flew out and landed neatly next to Harry's. "I changed the wrapping paper from red to green, so we can tell who's sent what," Draco said, as if that was Harry's most pressing question. "Now that we've got that settled, care for a swim?"

"You've got an inside pool?" Harry asked. He had been in the basement, the only logical place he could think of one being, and there was certainly no pool.

"No, don't be daft," Draco said, already starting to strip down. "That pond you saw from the blue dining room, it's heated. And quite delightful, if I do say so. Almost like a hot tub, but without the bubbles, and none of the inconveniences of a full-sized pool."

"I suppose then," Harry said, starting to change but pausing when Draco had fully stripped and admiring him. Draco saw his look and smiled.

"This," he said, "is why I keep the windows frosted." He walked over to Harry and kissed him, pressing their bodies together, Harry's hands sliding everywhere he could reach. He pulled away far too quickly, eyes sparkling and spots of color on his cheeks. "Move over, would you? I need my swim trunks."

Feeling a little dazed, Harry did as he was asked. He also regained enough consciousness to get dressed properly, and Draco summoned two towels from the bathroom. "Here, don't forget your cloak," he said, tossing Harry's travelling cloak to him. "It's quite chilly outside. Don't worry about shoes, though; the path is heated as well."

The first step outside required a lot of courage. Between the Jelly Legs curse when he arrived, the falling snow cemented with absolute certainty that his feet would freeze the moment he left the back porch. Draco had gotten several yards before he turned around.

"Harry, what are you doing?" he asked. "Waiting for a unicorn to come give you a lift? I hate to break it to you, but not even the great Malfoys are in possession of such a beast."

Harry flushed. "Don't be a prat," he said and stepped outside. Like Draco promised, the pathway was heated, warmer by far that the floor of the Manor. The snow still fell around him, disappearing only an inch or two above the ground. He slid the door closed and caught up with Draco, walking the rest of the distance with him. It was a bit disorienting to have his bare feet so pleasantly warm while the rest of him was shivering slightly in the snow. When they got to the pond Draco took off his cloak, carefully laying it on the pathway, and slid into the water. He sat on something, whether it was the bottom of the pond or a ledge of some sort he couldn't tell, and let out a sigh.

"Hurry up and join me," he said. "It's _divine_." He spared a glance over his shoulder. "Don't put your cloak on mine! Merlin's beard, Harry, how can you be so daft? The snow only stops six inches above the ground; if you heap it all like that, you'll get it soaking wet."

"You could have told me," Harry muttered, though it probably should have occurred to him without any help. He moved his cloak and gently lowered himself in. The water was heated to the perfect degree and yes, there was a ledge around the edge, or at least here, made out of what felt like natural materials; tightly compacted dirt magically held in place offered a comfortable yet sturdy shelf. Harry's legs dangled as he sat, scooting over so he was pressed against Draco.

"Mm," Draco sighed. "Lovely, isn't it? A compromise between your Black Lake and my top of the line hot tub."

"There isn't any wildlife in here, is there?" Harry asked, trying to look into the dark water.

Draco laughed. "Nothing that will bother you. There are a few Ramoras around the bottom, and enough plankton to keep them fed, but that's it." He paused. "Don't tell anyone I said that. We don't exactly have a license to keep them here; Mother fell in love with them in India, and she imported a mating pair as soon as she got home. They've been here ever since."

"Anything else I should keep to myself?" Harry asked, torn between a smile and the thought of all the Aurors who routinely searched the place. He was going to be one of them soon; it would hardly be fitting for a trainee to already be keeping secrets from the Ministry.

Draco's eyes sparkled. "Not that I can tell you about," he said, and then frowned. "Actually, probably not. I'm sure the Ministry got everything on their last raid. For all I know the fish are gone, though I doubt it; Mother has them trained to avoid capture from even the strongest of wizards.

"Don't go walking through the woods by yourself though; we've had a nasty infestation of Pogrebins since summer; not even the centaurs have been able to completely wipe them out."

Harry gaped at him. He had never heard of a Pogrebin, but centaurs? "_Centaurs _live in these woods?"

"A few, yeah," Draco replied, like it was nothing. "You probably won't see them though; they don't take kindly to strangers. I can barely get them to talk to me, and I've lived here my whole life."

"How big are these woods?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. Big, I guess. I certainly haven't seen them all. They're really Father's domain; I'm sure it would surprise you to hear that he fancies himself a woodsman, at least when nobody is looking. He's the one who talks to the centaurs and who was making progress on the Pogrebin situation. He's got a map in his study of all our property, but he doesn't like me in there, so I haven't seen it up close."

Harry was trying to wrap his head around the scale the Malfoys lived in. Now, in their decline, they had three properties, at least one of which was literally bigger than Draco knew, the other two in extremely popular locations, but still managing to be vast enough to stay secluded. Centaurs lived in their woods, illegal fish in their pond, white peacocks that blended into the snow, a house elf at each property. Going from the cupboard under the stairs to this, even with seven years of adjustment, was a leap almost too big for Harry to make.

"Calm down, it's not _that_ much," Draco sighed. "If you ever see the Greengrass Estate, well, _that's_ something to get excited about." He shrugged. "This is just our little corner of Wiltshire."

"You have no concept of anything," Harry said, poking him in the chest. "You're a selfish, entitled brat. Be happy with what you have."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I _am_ happy. I've got you."

Harry flushed. "That's not what I meant."

"This is what I meant," he said, putting a hand lightly on Harry's crotch. "This, and everything in here." He tapped Harry's head, and then blushed a little. "And in here," he said, laying his other hand on Harry's chest, over his heart.

Harry felt a little melty. He didn't know exactly what that meant, but that was as close he could come to describing the feeling swirling through him. Draco looked up at him, eyes of the clearest grey boring into his. "Harry, I'm sorry," he said softly. "I know I'm—well, farther along, or—I've liked you longer, but—what I mean to say is that—"

Harry cut him off with a kiss. "Stop worrying," he said, brushing Draco's hair back. "It's fine. It's perfect. I love seeing you like this, so romantic, stumbling over your words." Draco flushed. "I haven't been in love with you for seven years, no, but I still love you." He kissed Draco again and a spark of electricity shot down his spine, settling lower, and Draco gasped quietly as he felt Harry move beneath his hand. "And don't change the subject," he said, collecting his thoughts. "You're an egocentric prat who doesn't think of anyone other than himself. Poor little rich boy, complaining that his woods filled with centaurs and enchanted lakes and villas and chalets aren't good enough, not compared to the Greengrass's, whoever they are. I grew up in a broom cupboard, the whole room smaller than your bed. So don't complain."

Draco had been smiling roguishly throughout this speech, no doubt expecting some sort of punishment, but he frowned at Harry's last words. "Cupboard? What are you talking about? I thought you were raised by your aunt and uncle."

Harry cursed himself. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, now or ever, but especially not now. "Never mind," he said. "We were focusing on you, on your—"

"No, stop," Draco interrupted. "A _cupboard_? You mean that figuratively, right? You had a small room?"

Harry closed his eyes and leaned back, resting his head on the ground. "No, a cupboard, under the stairs. A crawlspace, sort of. I got my own room after my first year at Hogwarts, when they were scared I'd curse them in their sleep. But before I found out I was a wizard, I—"

"You didn't _know_?" Draco said, interrupting again. "Next you'll be telling me you didn't find out about Voldemort until he was resurrected in front of you."

"Er, no, found out about him the day before I left for my first year," Harry said. "Hagrid told me about him, the truth about my parents—I thought they died in a car crash before that—and who I was." He opened his eyes and looked at Draco. He looked furious, positively livid, but he was holding himself back.

"So you lived in a cupboard," he said slowly, "beneath the stairs. I can only imagine how your family treated you beyond that. Then—"

"Mostly like a house elf," Harry interrupted. "I cleaned, cooked, stayed silent and out of the way. Dudley—my cousin—he was spoiled rotten, I got whatever was left over that he didn't throw away first. But Dray, really, we don't need to talk about this. It was years ago. I haven't lived there since seventh year."

"Yes we do," Draco said. Harry noted the dangerous tone of his voice and started to get worried. Draco when he was angry was not a pleasant sight. "Next you'll be telling me they locked you up."

"Er, well, only sometimes," Harry stammered. "But the Weasleys busted me out. Fred and George, they stole their dad's car, and—"

"The _Weasleys_?" Draco shrieked, control breaking. "They broke you out with a fucking _stolen car_ and brought you back to that wreck of a thing they call their house? Have you any idea what it would have been like if you hadn't been so goddamned stubborn that first day? _I _could have rescued you, _actually_ rescued you. My father would have destroyed your family and you would have lived with me; we've certainly got the space. You lived with these _wretched_ people you call _family _until you were _seventeen_? Merlin's fucking beard, Harry, you could have been here the whole time! What is _wrong _with you?" He smacked Harry's head, considerably harder than he needed to.

"It's, um, complicated," Harry said, rubbing the spot Draco had hit. "There was a spell on their house, protecting me from Voldemort."

"Right, like we haven't got protection spells," Draco spat. "You would have been far safer with us than with—"

"No," Harry interjected quietly. "No, I wouldn't have. You lived with Voldemort for two years; I put up with the Dursleys for seventeen. I'd take mild abuse and bountiful neglect over Voldemort any day."

Draco's eyes were like fire. "You—it would have been different," he said angrily. "If you were with us, it would have been different. Voldemort wouldn't have dared—"

"Yes, he would have," Harry said, almost gently. "It's okay, Draco. Really. I don't live with them anymore, I don't even know where they are. The Order took them somewhere safe, and that was the end of that. Dudley even apologized before he left."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, brilliant. One apology makes up for years of god knows what."

"You mean like how I forgave you?"

Draco froze. "Don't—don't you even—that's entirely different," he sputtered.

Harry shrugged. "Probably. Just calm down, would you? It's over and done with. And you're doing something to the water."

Draco looked away from Harry. The water was in a huge upset, whipping around the pond, waves crashing on the shore. He took a deep breath and it started to calm. He turned back to Harry, who saw the blaze had left his eyes, though he was still fuming.

"You—" he started, then forced himself to take another deep breath. "You are infuriating, Harry Potter. No wonder you couldn't stand me; I was just like your family, bringing them all the way to Hogwarts."

"No," Harry said firmly. "You were nothing like them, ever. You're much more clever than they are; you might have spent Merlin knows how long tormenting me, but at least it was interesting." He smiled slightly, which Draco did not return.

"Still, I—"

"You love me, so shut up," Harry interrupted. "Everything you did was because you loved me. They put up with me only because Dumbledore made them. I would have been tossed into the street if not for him. You said yourself you would have taken me in. That's hardly the same."

Draco relaxed a little more, and though there were still waves skimming across the surface of the pond, they didn't have whitecaps anymore. "I suppose," he said. "But—"

"No," Harry interrupted. "It's Christmas Eve. Don't make me talk about them anymore."

Now Draco looked guilty, which didn't make Harry feel good, but at least he no longer looked like he was about to kill something. "Alright," he said, settling back down on the ledge.

"Come here," Harry said, collecting Draco and pulling him onto his lap. "It's Christmas. Be merry."

Draco smiled just the slightest bit. "Merry?" he asked. "Hmm." He reached over Harry for his wand and considered. "_Felix Angelo_," he said, pointing at the water. Music started coming out from the water itself, traditional wizarding Christmas carols, so different from what the Muggles had to contend with. They had songs celebrating the solstice, the snow, the firewood that kept them warm throughout the season. Nothing about Santa or reindeer or any of the things Harry hated about the Muggle holiday. "And perhaps…_Aquifolia_." Holly bushes sprung to life around the edge of the pond, quickly gathering a dusting of snow. "_Accio _three peacocks."

"Draco—" Harry started, watching as three birds zoomed around the side of the manor and peaceably resumed their previous activities as if nothing had happened.

"They're used to it, don't worry." Draco smiled, pleased with himself, and put his wand back down. "Is that better?" he asked, sliding off Harry's lap and snuggling against him. "Is that merry enough for you?"

"It's perfect."


	45. Chapter 45: Christmas Eve

**A/N:** Fluff. ALL the fluff. Nothing but. Have fun!

**Chapter Forty-Five:**

_**Christmas Eve**_

Dinner, though Harry expected it to be even more stressful, was much less awkward than lunch. They did eat in the proper dining room, and the table was long enough that if they hadn't all been seated at one end conversation would have been nigh impossible. Even though Harry knew Mr. Malfoy had beaten Draco in this room, and despite how large and imposing the room was, conversation flowed easily. No doubt some of it was due to the wonderfully festive decorations, but it was Draco who had the most influence over the tone of the meal. He seemed to have fallen back into his part of the well-versed socialite and had no difficulty following his mother's unspoken rules of appropriate conversation. He antagonized no one, not even Sunny when she came to clear the table and bring out dessert. The Christmas cake properly impressed Harry, and Mrs. Malfoy basked in the praise. The only awkward moment came when Draco demanded pumpkin spice muffins for breakfast and Mrs. Malfoy threatened not to make them if he didn't revise his tone, but he did, and she said she'd see what she could do.

After dinner they returned to the sitting room, where Harry and Draco roasted marshmallows in the fireplace. They levitated them over the flames, which at first Harry found to be very awkward, dropping several onto the burning logs before getting the hang of it. Mrs. Malfoy reclined on a couch reading, occasionally glancing up to make sure Harry and Draco hadn't set the room on fire. The way she positioned herself was eerily similar to how Draco lounged around, so much so that Harry had to keep his eyes on the fire. At one point she joined them, perfectly roasting a single marshmallow before returning to the couch.

Harry glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mrs. Malfoy was properly engaged in her book before whispering to Draco, "Open your mouth."

Draco looked at him suspiciously. "What are you going to put in it? My mother is right there, you know."

"Of course I know," Harry said. "Don't be ridiculous. Just do it."

Humoring him, Draco did, and Harry carefully levitated his marshmallow into his mouth. Draco smiled, eating it contentedly, before attempting to repeat the action. Just as his marshmallow reached Harry's face a knot in the fireplace exploded, startling him into mushing it against Harry's nose, missing his mouth entirely.

"Hey!" Harry yelled, jerking back, trying to remove the hot, sticky candy. "You did that on purpose!"

"I did not!" Draco protested. "The fire startled me!"

"Oh, sure," Harry said, flicking his wand and whipping his melting marshmallow onto Draco's face. Sticky, white goo dripped down his cheek, and Harry felt something in him clench.

"That _was _intentional," Draco said dangerously. "You've got a war on your hands, Potter."

It was a stilted war, as they needed to wait for the marshmallows to cook properly, but it was also sudden, since they were too focused on their own candy to notice how the other's was progressing. Harry managed to lodge one in Draco's ear, which caused Draco to fly one _up_ Harry's nose, rather than on it, leaving him sputtering and snorting out bits of marshmallow. Mrs. Malfoy called a halt to the game when Draco missed Harry and sent a marshmallow careening across the room, splattering against a unicorn tapestry. She cleaned it with a wave of her wand but demanded the bag of marshmallows before they could do any further damage.

"And go wash your faces, both of you," Mrs. Malfoy demanded. "Draco, really, when was the last time I had to tell you that? When you were four, five? You should know better."

"Yes, Mother," Draco said, leading Harry out of the room and to the nearest bathroom. They took turns cleaning each other's faces, taking longer than necessary. Early attempts to lick the stickiness off were unsuccessful; it had hardened beyond a liquid form, and required a wet washcloth to remove the mess. Harry also spent quite a while sneezing into tissues and unnaturally craning his neck to get water from the sink to run up his nose before declaring himself clean, while Draco made use of Q-tips to clean the inside of his ear.

"That may have been a bad idea," Draco conceded, taking another Q-tip out of the box, wetting it, and swabbing his ear.

"Then you shouldn't have started it in the first place," Harry replied. He was hit with another sneeze, barely managing to grab a tissue in time.

"I didn't start anything," Draco said haughtily. "_You_ threw a marshmallow at my cheek. And don't think I didn't notice that look at the mess you made; a troll could have figured out what you wanted."

Harry blushed furiously. "All I want is to stop sneezing," he said.

"And to come on my face," Draco added. He threw out the Q-Tip. "Alright, I think I'm done. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, suppose so," Harry said, tucking a few tissues into his pocket, just in case. "Where to?"

"The sitting room, of course," Draco replied, leading the way. "We have a few more Christmas traditions to go." When they entered the sitting room, Draco sat on the couch next to his mother's, and Harry joined him. "Is it late enough?" he asked.

Mrs. Malfoy glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty. "Yes, I imagine so. Fetch me the book, would you?"

Draco practically bounced off the couch and took a book off one of the shelves. The binding was old and worn, the cover so faded Harry couldn't read it. Draco handed it to his mum before rejoining Harry on the couch, throwing a blanket around their shoulders and taking his hand.

"Which one this year?" she asked, flipping through the book. "_Snowflakes on the Pond_? _Geoffrey the Orphan_? _Altantsetseg the Lonely Yeti_?" Then she smiled, and before Draco could answer she asked, "_Catherin and Frances_?"

Draco blushed slightly. "Yes, please."

"Draco chooses this story every year," she said, turning to where the binding had completely cracked, halving the book neatly. "His father protested at first, saying it was too romantic to be appropriate for a boy, but eventually he relented." She sighed, lost in memory. "This is certainly easier than when we were children. Bella, Dromeda and I could never agree on a story. Bella wanted the bloodiest, Dromeda wanted the one about peace with Muggles, and my favorite was always _Catherin and Frances_."

"It is the best," Draco said, snuggling against Harry.

"Darling, you haven't heard half of these," she said. "But it's pointless to argue, so let us begin."

As soon as Mrs. Malfoy began to read, the scene shimmered into existence in front of her. Harry watched with amazement as the story was told, the magic not broken when he realized how closely it followed the plot of Romeo and Juliet. There were some changes; it was about wizards, of course, and it took place long before Shakespeare's time, and at Christmas. Harry was very happy to see this version didn't have a tragic ending; instead the two families united and shared a traditional Christmas dinner. The scene shimmered out of existence as she closed the book.

"One day, Draco, you will wish you were familiar with the other stories," she said, setting the book down on the coffee table. "When your children want to hear about the yeti, how will you spin such a tale when you have never heard it yourself?"

Draco flushed. "Mum," he said, almost a whine. Harry was doubly startled; first by the mention of children, and then by Draco referring to his mum as anything other than mother. "Don't. Not again. Every year you lecture me on the joys of parenting, and I'm not in the mood. _Harry's_ not in the mood."

Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "Alright then, that tradition can wait until next year. _Sunny!_"

The house elf appeared with a crack, holding a heaping tray, full of gingerbread men, powdery cookies Harry didn't recognize and tiny teacups of eggnog, all surrounding a fully decorated gingerbread house.

"Sunny has prepared already," she squeaked, setting the tray down on the table in front of Mrs. Malfoy.

"Very good," she replied. "You may leave."

Sunny disappeared. Draco stood, bringing Harry with him to sit in front of the table. He took one of the powdery cookies for himself and handed another to Harry; Mrs. Malfoy also took one.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

"Merry Christmas," Draco echoed.

"Merry Christmas," Harry said.

"_At the same time_," Draco whispered, bringing his cookie up to his mouth. Harry made sure to correctly time his first bite with the two Malfoys. Powdered sugar and spices burst into his mouth, sugar flying everywhere and coating his lips. Mrs. Malfoy and Draco looked much the same, and Harry had to stifle a giggle. They were always so proper, especially Mrs. Malfoy, and seeing them covered in powdered sugar was almost too much. They finished their cookies and moved on to the rest of the plate. The teacups of eggnog seemed to be bottomless, and the piles of cookies and the gingerbread house never shrunk. Draco insisted on eating the star on top of the roof, stating it was tradition, but other than that, everything was shared equally. Harry couldn't imagine doing this with Mr. Malfoy, even though his heart ached for the man stuck in Azkaban on Christmas Eve. Surely he wouldn't allow himself to be covered in sugar; surely he wouldn't sit by as his wife read a Christmas fairy tale, surely he wouldn't join Draco on the floor.

They ate until they were nearly bursting and still, the plate was hardly emptied. The gingerbread house was missing a wall, true, but the piles of cookies hadn't seemed to shrink at all, and the eggnog was definitely bottomless. Draco leaned on Harry, closing his eyes, and Harry wasn't sure how they were going to manage sex when so full and tired. He was determined, but there was only so much he could do.

"Harry, have you got any traditions you'd like to share with us?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

"Not really," Harry replied, not for the first time aching for a real family. Christmas Eve with the Dursleys had only been different from any other day due to Dudley's incessant whining about wanting his presents _now_. At Hogwarts he woke to a pile of gifts at his feet and opened them with Ron and Hermione, using Christmas Eve only as an excuse not to study. The Weasleys was always festive, but there wasn't anything particular that stood out.

"Now you do," Draco said sleepily, holding his hand.

"Then Draco, would you care to put up the star?"

Draco jerked up, suddenly wide awake. "Yes!"

Mrs. Malfoy laughed. "It never gets old for you, does it?"

"No," Draco said firmly. "It's my job. Woe be to the one who dares try and take it from me."

Mrs. Malfoy removed a large, glittering star from the arrangement on the mantle. "Be careful," she said, handing it to Draco. "It's been in our family—"

"—for hundreds of years, yes, I know," Draco said. "You tell me that every year. I'm not a kid anymore, Mother. I can handle a simple hovering charm." He took out his wand and very, very carefully raised the star above the tree, making sure to set it down on only the sturdiest of branches. It completed the scene so perfectly Harry felt as though he was looking at a painting. Draco smiled. "I told you so," he said, but there was no malice or arrogance in his voice.

"Very good," Mrs. Malfoy said. "It is certainly less nerve-wracking than when you were little."

"I'm nearly nineteen now, you needn't worry so," Draco said, sitting back next to Harry.

She raised her eyes. "_Nearly_, Draco?"

He flushed. "Well, in the grand order of things, yes, six months counts as nearly."

Harry realized he didn't have the slightest idea of when Draco's birthday was, but he couldn't think of a way to ask without sounding pathetically uninformed, so he let it go, making a mental note to figure it out sometime soon.

"Whatever you say, darling." Mrs. Malfoy yawned. "I'm afraid I'm for bed. Don't stay up too late; we've got presents, brunch and visiting your father. None of these activities should be rushed."

"Yes, Mother," Draco said dutifully.

She got up, walked over to Draco and kissed his forehead. "Merry Christmas, my love." Then, much to Harry's surprise, she repeated the action with him. "Merry Christmas." She swept out of the room, leaving Harry and Draco alone. Draco immediately glanced at the clock.

"Eleven-thirty," he said. "I don't suppose you'd let me open my gift early?"

"Not a chance," Harry said, and Draco sighed.

"I figured as much. Come on, then, we can carol until then." Draco led a confused Harry out of the room and down a maze of hallways before arriving at a room in the back of the manor, the far wall devoted to windows. Snow was still falling and was starting to accumulate, but Harry hardly noticed. In the middle of the room sat a grand piano, dominating the room. Draco sat at the bench and rested his fingers on the keys. He turned to Harry. "Well?" he said. "Come over here."

Harry moved so he was standing behind Draco, watching as he began to play an unfamiliar melody. He started singing, and Harry became blindingly aware that the Singing Solution he had taken way back in first week was hardly necessary to make his voice beautiful. He let the music wash over him, ignoring the dizziness and weak knees in favor of listening. When Draco finally stopped playing he turned around, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

"Why didn't you sing along?" Draco asked. "That's the whole point of caroling, to sing together. Mother always goes to bed early, but Father and I stay up late into the night playing and singing."

"I don't know any wizard carols," Harry said, not adding that he couldn't sing to save his life.

Draco frowned. "If I were to stoop to such a level as to allow a Muggle song to come out of this piano, would you promise to sing with me?"

Harry fidgeted. "I don't think you want me to do that," he said. "I'm not known for my voice."

"Neither am I, but I can still carry a tune," Draco replied, the understatement of the century. "What songs _do_ you know?" Harry had to think. It had been a long time since he had been in the Muggle world for Christmas, and nearly all the carols escaped him. "Come on, Harry, there has to be _something_."

"Silent Night?" Harry suggested. He remembered, barely, listening as Petunia sang—or, more accurately mangled—the song. "Maybe?"

Draco picked out the first few notes. "This one?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "How do you know Muggle carols at all?"

Draco shrugged. "Sheet music flocks to me the way trouble surrounds you."

Harry thought that a rather tactless comparison, but let it go. "I'm not sure I remember all the words."

Draco rolled his head back in an act of exasperation. "Alright, give me a second." He stood up, opened the piano bench and began digging through piles and piles of sheet music. The bench had an Undetectable Expanding Charm on it, and soon Draco was arm deep. Eventually he stood up, took out his wand and said, "_Accio_ Silent Night." Nothing happened, and he frowned. "_Accio _Muggle Christmas carol book." This time an old book flew up, disrupting the previously organized piles, and Draco caught it deftly. "It must be in here somewhere," he muttered to himself, closing the bench and sitting back down. "Ah, here we go. Can you read sheet music?"

"Not even a little," Harry said.

Draco sighed. "Of course not. I'll play the melody for you, then. Will you be able to follow along with me after that?"

"Maybe?" Harry said. He was very apprehensive about this whole situation, and would have much rather been in the bedroom playing with their new toys, or even just relaxing in the sitting room.

Draco played through the song, singing along, and Harry had to force himself to focus. There was something intoxicating about Draco's voice; it made thinking very, very hard.

"There," Draco said. "I'll play the melody again; sing along with me this time." Harry hesitated, not joining in as Draco started to sing. Draco turned around, frustrated. "Harry, really, it's just us. What's the worse that could happen?"

"You could laugh me out of the Manor," Harry said. "Or curse me for daring to mar your music with my voice."

"Neither of those things are going to happen," Draco said. "On the other hand, if you continue to fight me, I can't promise anything. Ready to go?"

Harry sighed. "I—alright, fine." This time he did join Draco, very hesitantly. Draco encouraged him with wide, pleading eyes, and he sang a little louder, just enough to be heard. They reached the end of the song, and Draco smiled, satisfied.

"That wasn't so bad, was it? Now let's do it for real, and then I promise I'll relinquish you from all caroling duties."

"Fine," Harry said, resigned to his fate. He had trouble at first, with Draco playing more than the melody, but he did the best he could, following along. His voice was much deeper than Draco's, but he was pleased to hear that—at least as far as he could tell—he could, in fact, carry a tune. Draco finished with a flourish and turned around, smiling brilliantly.

"Thank you," Draco said. "Really. I always sing with my father. As if Christmas alone isn't enough to make me miss him terribly, skipping out on our late night caroling is almost too much." Harry sat next to him, Draco scooting over to accommodate him, and Draco immediately took his hands. "I don't know what's worse; your lack of proper traditions entirely, or me missing mine."

"I'd rather wing it than have family in Azkaban," Harry replied.

"Yeah," Draco said softly. He reached up and brushed a tear away, laughing quietly. "Look at me; I'm an utter wreck. I should be celebrating the holiday, not bringing us down. Besides, I'll see Father tomorrow. We can sing together then." Draco's eyes lit up. "That's it! My gift for him! A chance to sing our favorite carols together."

Harry squeezed his hand. "That sounds perfect."

"Would you mind if I played some more?" Draco asked. "Even if you don't sing, it's not a proper Christmas without carols."

"Not at all," Harry said, drastically understating his desire to hear Draco sing more.

Draco was apparently very nifty with the piano; he managed to play perfectly, despite Harry sitting next to him, almost completely blocking the upper register. Draco's voice more than made up for it; he was a soprano, Harry thought, though he was hardly familiar with musical terms. He sang through several carols before moving on to non-voice pieces, much to Harry's disappointment. Though it did give him the opportunity to focus on Draco's playing which, really, was just as good as his voice. He didn't need to look at the keys at all, and in fact played with his eyes closed. Harry desperately wondered what he was picturing, but it seemed terribly rude to ask in the middle of a song, and he found he didn't have the courage in the gaps between. Eventually Draco sighed lightly and pulled the cover over the keys.

"How simultaneously restorative and heart breaking," he said. "The ones I didn't sing, those were Father's special carols. Not only were they at least an octave or two below my range, but they were from his childhood when he sang them with a_his_ father, and since Grandfather passed, he always preferred to sing them alone."

Harry gave him an awkward, sideways hug, the best he could manage on the bench. "Shall we go to bed?"

Draco quickly conjured a clock. Five past midnight. He smiled roguishly. "Absolutely. As long as we make a quick stop beneath the tree in my room first."

"Couldn't do it otherwise."


	46. Chapter 46: In the Wee Hours

**A/N:** Guess what guys! It's Google Docs o'clock! There is a pathetically small amount of this chapter I can publish here, so be sure to follow the link (if you're into it, that is. Otherwise, don't).

Happy Early Christmas, y'all!

**Chapter Forty-Six:**

_**In the Wee Hours**_

Draco led them upstairs to his room, muttering an extra locking spell on the door and pausing to cast _Muffliato_ before joining Harry at the foot of the tree. Harry was a little embarrassed that just the spells were enough to get his heart pounding, but he forced himself calm. All his efforts were thrown out the window when Draco looked at him, smiling sexily, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering in the candlelight.

"Well?" he asked. "Who's to unwrap their gift first?"

Harry was more concerned with unwrapping Draco than his present, but he forced a reply. "Don't care." Or, at least most of one.

"Then I will go first," Draco said, picking up the perfectly wrapped box. It immediately shrunk down to the size of the actual package, startling Harry. Draco laughed. "Daisy is a genius at wrapping, I told you." He carefully, meticulously removed first the bow, then the ribbon, and finally the wrapping paper, making sure not to tear anything. Harry found the process maddeningly slow but not surprising in the least.

Draco smiled wickedly. "Belle Nuit?" he said, looking at the elegantly penned name on the box. "And with dancing snowflakes, how quaint."

"We don't have to—" Harry started. "I mean, if you don't like what's in it, or—"

"Hush," Draco said firmly. "Don't say another word, lest you spoil the surprise." Again, he carefully untied the ribbon, and opened the box. His flush deepened, and his smile widened. "Oh, I see," he said silkily. "We will be having fun tonight, won't we?" He levitated the candle out of the box and set it on his dresser, lighting it with a flick. It was hard to smell the pine scent when they were already seated in front of a Christmas tree, but Harry appreciated the sentiment of his gift, at least that part of it, being used immediately. "How much of this have you tried before?" Draco asked, examining the contents. "I know you haven't been with anyone other than myself, but have you experimented on your own?"

"No," Harry said, a little embarrassed. "Just what we've done."

"Excellent," Draco said. He took out the Christmas tree vibrator and pressed a button on the end. It whirred into life and he held it against his wrist. "Mm, good, it's strong," he said, either not noticing or completely ignoring how uncomfortable Harry looked. He turned it back off and returned it to the box. Next he picked up the wreath and examined it, seeing how stretchy it was, making sure the plastic was smooth. He smelled the massage oil, lube and bath salts. Finally, he turned to Harry, still flushed and eyes glittering. "Very good, Harry. I wasn't sure how you'd fare in a French sex shop, but it seems you did very well indeed." He put a hand on Harry's cheek and kissed him thoroughly. "Now, here," he said, setting his box aside and handing Harry his. "It's more for me than you, I suppose. And you might not like it, at least not yet, and if you want to work up to it, or even forget—"

"Let me open it before I decide what to do with it, alright?" Harry said, smiling with amusement.

"Okay, but—"

"Stop talking, Dray," Harry said. Though his voice was light there was an undertone of control, and Draco stopped protesting. Harry wasn't nearly as careful with the wrapping paper as Draco had been, and soon he was holding a black box embossed with _Les Méchants_ in gold.

"It's from Paris," Draco burst out. "In Ruelle Sombre. I did find something useful there, even if it wasn't for my father."

"Shut up," Harry said a touch more sternly. Draco once again fell silent as Harry opened the lid. Dark red velvet lay folded over itself, hiding the contents. With every piece of unwrapping he had to do, Harry's heart sped up, and it was with shaking hands that he opened the velvet.

"It's maple," Draco said, unable to help himself. "With a black lacquer finish. It's only twelve inches, I wanted to get you a small one, to get used to it, and the handle—"

"_Draco_," Harry snapped. "I told you to stop talking. Or are you trying to goad me into using this on you? I will, but I'd much prefer to wait until I'm good and ready than to be pushed into it by a bratty little boy who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."

Draco's flush darkened, staining his cheeks redder than Harry had ever seen them before. His eyes were nearly black with lust, almost as dark as the paddle he had gotten for Harry. "N-no," he stammered. "I'm sorry."

Harry picked it up and ran his fingers over the smooth surface, liking how it felt in his hands, trying to gauge Draco's reaction. Mostly he fought to keep the fear and nervousness off his face; they hadn't even gotten to spanking yet, despite Draco's near constant begging. Clearly he had gotten sick of waiting and had taken matters into his own hands…or, more accurately, put them into Harry's. The paddle had a weight to it that contributed to his uneasiness. How easy would it be to hurt Draco, to accidentally go past whatever he wanted? But still, the imagine of Draco bent over, arse a burning red, the rest of his skin as pale as always, that was not unappealing. No, not at all.

"Which first?" Harry asked, keeping his voice even. "The vibrator or the paddle?"

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Thanks for reading, and enjoy your smut :)


	47. Chapter 47: Christmas Morning

**A/N: **Whoops! I had to take my kitty to the vet (she was declared perfect ^^) and I got home an hour or two ago and totally spaced that I hadn't put up a chapter yet! But here it is, not to worry.

Before I go any further, I want to thank each and every one of you. Way back when I first posted about Hermione's parents, I got a review saying that they were Obliviated, which I knew. On the next chapter, in my A/N, I said I knew that I was taking liberties, but I didn't want to live in a world where they didn't remember her. Since then I've had at least two reviewers tell me that she never officially Obliviated them, just performed some sort of memory spell. I love that you guys are sticking up for me, even when I'm totally comfortable with what I did and don't need it. I love that I'm in a community where everyone knows these stories so well. I just love all of you.

As for this chapter: nightmares ahoy, fluff and comforting!draco&narcissa. I don't know what happened to me, but I've absolutely fallen in love with Narcissa (in a mom sense, of course). OH ALSO **WARNING: **I have taken liberties with how a Pensieve works. Please note I have specifically made it different from Dumbledore's; we live in a word filled with all sorts of different versions of things, and I see no reason why wizards wouldn't also. Different types of brooms, different types of Pensieves, yeah? Point being, I know it's not like Dumbledore's and that was on purpose and everything's fine and there's no need to tell me that because I already know and it was on purpose.

Anyway, love! Enjoy!

**Chapter Forty-Seven:**

_**Christmas Morning**_

_It was Christmas morning, and Harry had his wand. He stood in Draco's bedroom, standing very still, listening for any noise. He locked in on it—the sound of laughter, drifting up from the sitting room. Harry padded downstairs silently, bare feet muffled by the carpet. He was wearing robes so black they seemed to be made of nothingness, and made no sound as they moved._

_Harry found his way to the sitting room with no trouble, following the voices. Narcissa, Draco and Lucius, and the squeaky voice of Sunny. A Christmas morning for the whole family._

_Harry stood in the doorway and watched. Draco was opening a meticulously wrapped gift as Narcissa smiled and Lucius looked on, waiting for a reaction. It was from him, then. Sunny sat next to Draco, included in their tradition. It didn't strike Harry as odd. He waited for Draco to finish opening the gift—a new sweater—before making himself known._

_Instead of speaking, Harry extinguished all lights. The candles fluttered out, the fire roaring in the fireplace vanished, the twinkles on the tree blinked out of existence. He heard the confusion, heard they weren't scared yet, he set the tree on fire. The blaze illuminated the room, throwing elongated shadows across the walls, casting deep shadows on their faces, revealing Harry's presence._

"_Harry?" Draco asked. "Harry, love, what are you doing?"_

_Lucius began to cast _Aguamenti_, and Harry responded with "_Expelliarmus,_" watching lazily as the wand flew across the room. Harry caught it deftly and threw it into the fire, watching with a detached joy as it immediately caught._

"_Harry!" Narcissa said. "Harry, really! This is far too much!"_

"_No," Harry said. "No, not yet."_

_Harry turned to Draco first. "You never changed, but you changed me."_

_Draco's brow creased. "What are you talking about?"_

"_Can't you see?" Harry asked. "Look at me. I have risen. I am no longer the Boy-Who-Lived but the Boy-Who-_Lives_." Harry stood tall, his cloak billowing around him. His eyes were dark but clear, full of life. "You taught me the true way to live."_

"_Harry, I don't—"_

"Cruciatus._"_

_Draco screamed, body contorting, his parents fluttering around him, trying vainly to help._

"Wingardium Leviosa_."_

_Draco rose into the air, still screaming, body bending in ways it was never meant to._

_Harry turned to Narcissa. "You shall suffer the sins of your sister." Harry conjured a silver dagger and, with a flick of his wand, sent it flying into her stomach. She gasped, holding her wands over the wound, failing to hold back the flow of blood. "You stood by and watched. Watch now." He forced her head up, her eyes fixating on Draco. "Look at your son. You're helpless to stop me. Besides, you're about to die, it doesn't matter."_

_Harry turned to Lucius. "I can only blame myself for you," Harry said. "I stood up for you, spoke on your behalf. I knew what you had done, knew more than the court could think of in their wildest dreams, and instead I helped you. I think that might have been the turning point, don't you? When Draco's influence started to take hold?"_

"_Harry, no," he protested. "You know what it was like, you know—"_

"_How it is to have complete control over you?" Harry suggested. "Yes, that I do know. _Imperius_."_

_Harry watched with only mild interest as Lucius stood up, walking jerkily into the blazing tree. His hair caught first, then his clothes, and then his skin started to melt. Harry turned away, uninterested. "Narcissa?" he asked. She swayed towards him, barely alive. "Narcissa, watch your husband, would you, dear?" She did, for a split second, before collapsing forward, a bloody hand falling from her lap to hit the floor._

"_Draco," Harry said. He dropped, falling to the floor with a thunk. He landed on his wrist, and the bone snapped. Harry thought he would have screamed, had his voice not been destroyed by the Torture Curse. "This is what you wanted, right? For me to hurt you?" He whimpered. "Dray, my love, I did all this for you. _Because _of you. Aren't you pleased?"_

_Sunny, who had been cowering under the tree, could no longer contain herself. She ran out and started to fuss over Draco, getting no farther than freeing his wrist from beneath him before Harry spoke. "_Avada Kedavra_." There was a flash of green light and the elf collapsed._

"_You've never liked house elves," Harry said. He finally moved into the room, squatting next to Draco. Draco was panting, covered in sweat, cradling his wrist, crying. Harry cocked his head. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"_

"_You—you killed my family," he gasped. "And you tortured me."_

"_Yes," Harry said. "For you. I am yours, forever."_

_He shook his head desperately. "No, Harry, please, no. Go away."_

_Harry grabbed his broken wrist and ground the broken bones together. Draco screamed. "See?" Harry said gently. "Only what you want. I am your servant, your slave. All you have to do is tell me and we will rise, victorious."_

"_Let me go," he begged. "Please, Harry, let me go."_

_Harry stood up, disgusted. "You're a worthless piece of shit," he spat. "Bloodtraitor." He considered. "Shall I leave you here to weep over your parents as I did? I could kill you, but that seems too easy. Perhaps I shall tether you to me, and keep you as my pet." Harry smiled. "Yes, I think that." He conjured a collar and wrapped it around Draco's neck, tightening it way past comfort._

"_Merry Christmas, my love."_

Harry's eyes flew open. He jerked away from Draco, pushing himself to the very edge of the bed. He was shaking and crying, moaning quietly in the back of his throat. That was—no, he couldn't put it in words. It was too much. Not even joining Voldemort had left him feeling like this, like he was about to throw up and his skin was going to crawl off and he might die, just spontaneously cease to live. He deserved no better; dream or no dream, it had come from _his_ mind, from within _him_, and he was seriously considering attempting to magic his brain out of his skull so he could cut away that part of him when Draco woke up.

"Mm?" Draco sighed. Harry watched him roll over, watched him frown as he expected and failed to feel him, watched his eyes fluttered open. "Harry, hon?"

"No, stop," Harry said, voice coming out as a cracked whisper. "Stop, don't talk to me."

Draco sat up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Harry saw his eyes widen as Draco took him in, and he nearly fell off the bed, trying to move away from him as he scooted over.

"Harry, what happened?" Draco asked, reaching for his hands. Harry jerked them away, completely and utterly unwilling to touch him. "Whatever it is, it was just a dream. It's Christmas morning, just—" He cut off as Harry let out a low moan. "Harry?"

"No," he whimpered. "No, no, no, Draco, leave, please."

Draco forced himself into Harry's space, forcing him to choose between falling off the bed or accepting his presence. Harry would have taken the fall, if he had been able to move. Draco put his hands on his Harry's face, forcing him to look at him. Harry refused, closing his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to jerk Draco's hands from him.

"_Harry_," he said firmly. "Listen to me. It was just a dream, whatever it was. It's not real. I promise you. You're here, with me, and I love you, and nothing bad is going to happen."

Harry shook his head desperately. "No, don't."

"Don't what?" Draco asked. "Don't _love _you?" Harry nodded miserably. "Don't be an idiot. Nothing's going to change that, especially not a _dream_. Merlin, Harry, how dense do you think I am?"

The small, steady stream of tears broke like a dam. Harry sobbed, shaking uncontrollably, unable to stop Draco from holding him, from stroking his back, from whispering comforting words. He tried, through his tears, to tell Draco what he had done, but he couldn't manage words, and Draco hushed him. Even if he couldn't move away physically, Harry refused to lean into his touch, to offer anything of himself. He had known, or thought he had, that he had been capable of terrible things, but he thought that had left when Voldemort killed him. That was clearly not the case, not when he could even _think_ such thoughts, no matter how subconscious or anchored in nightmares they were. Normal people, they didn't have the mind to think of such things. Only people like Voldemort, people like _Harry_, had the capacity to imagine such horrors.

"Hand me my wand," Harry gasped between sobs. He knew what had to be done; it was obvious, really.

Draco hesitated. "Why? What are you going to do?"

"Summon some chocolate," Harry lied. "Please, just give it to me."

"I can—"

"_No_," Harry interrupted. He took a deep breath. The flow of tears was starting to abate, though his hands were still shaking, no matter how tightly Draco held them. "I need it, please."

"Alright, it's okay," Draco said soothingly. He leaned over to his nightstand and handed the holly wand to Harry. "Just be careful. Doing magic when you're this upset, it's not—_Harry_!" Draco tried to take the wand back when he saw what Harry was doing, but Harry's grip was like steel, and he couldn't remove it from his hands. "Harry, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Draco said, attempting to pry his fingers off the wood.

"No, you have to let me," Harry said. "I've got to break it. If it's broken, I can't—I won't—I can't have a wand, it's not safe, it's not good, I can't, Draco, _please_, let me do this." He was becoming more and more frantic, and in his panic he almost managed to break free of Draco's grip. But Draco had a clear head on his side, and he pulled at just the right moment, wrenching the wand from Harry's grasp. He immediately grabbed his own, hawthorn wand and flew Harry's into the closet, securely locking the door with a spell only he could break.

Draco turned back to Harry and grabbed his wrists. "Harry. Stop. Breaking your wand has no effect on your dream. All it will do is make you miserable as soon as you calm down."

"I deserve it," Harry said. "I deserve to have my wand broken, I deserve to be miserable. He's still in me, or—or, probably, I drew him to me even as a baby, because I'm just like him, I'm worse, and I have to stop myself before—before I do something."

"Don't be an idiot; he came to you because of the prophecy, not because of anything you did. And you're not _going _to do anything," Draco said. "You're not a Death Eater, remember? I told you that the first time you had a nightmare. You never told me what that one was about; is this the same one?"

Harry shook his head violently. "That was—that was nothing, not compared to—" He took Draco's right hand, the wrist he had broken. He found the bones to be whole and in place, and for the first time, he started to actually calm down.

"What is it?" Draco said softly, letting Harry trace his skin, feel beneath it. "What happened?"

Harry shook his head. He dropped Draco's hand and ran his hands through his hair, desperately trying to orient himself. This—it had been a dream. Just a dream. If his nightmares, his dark thoughts, were worse than the average wizard, well, that would hardly be surprising. Maybe, maybe everything was okay.

Then Draco shifted slightly, and he winced, and Harry broke again. That wince, that _was_ real, he _had _done that. He flung himself out of bed, standing shakily between it and the Christmas tree he had made—_burned_, he reminded himself, he _burned_ trees, not created them. Draco seemed close to tears, and Harry couldn't tell if it was from the pain or because of how he was acting. Either way, he was the cause.

"I have to go," Harry said. "I—I'm going to go, now."

Draco was at his side in a split second, before he could even start to look for his clothing, grabbing his shoulders. "You are not going anywhere," he insisted. "Not like this."

Harry shook his head again. "No, I've got to—" He tried to jerk away, but Draco was strong, he had forgotten that, and while his fingers might be leaving bruises on his shoulders, he wasn't going anywhere. "Please, before I—"

Not letting go of him, Draco forced Harry over to the dresser and, still keeping one hand firmly anchored on Harry, opened the top drawer and pulled out a chocolate frog. He ripped the wrapping open with his teeth, grabbed the frog before it could jump away, and broke off a leg. "Eat this," he demanded. "Now."

"No, I—" Draco took advantage of his open mouth to shove the chocolate in. Harry sputtered but swallowed. Draco broke off another leg.

"Again," he said. "Don't fight me. Just eat it."

Harry felt his reasoning skills coming to a screeching halt. Ignoring Draco was one step closer to his dream, but doing as he said, accepting comfort when he deserved nothing, was worse. He couldn't get past this break in logic, and so he stood still, every muscle clenched, mouth closed. He wanted to yell at Draco, to tell him he didn't deserve it, but that would only give him another opportunity to force the chocolate on him.

"Okay, fine," Draco snapped, throwing the frog onto the floor. "Come with me." He let go of Harry's shoulder and grabbed his wrist instead so quickly Harry couldn't respond, and dragged him over to his bedside table. He picked up his wand, and Harry felt relief wash over him. Draco finally understood: Harry would be cursed, or worse, and then it would be finally, blessedly over. Harry closed his eyes. "_Stolia_." He jerked; instead of a curse, he was clothed. Flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Draco repeated the charm on himself. "This—Harry, you're not okay, and apparently I can't help." That was all the explanation he gave as he opened his door and dragged Harry down the hallway. They walked the full length, Draco striding quickly, Harry stumbling behind him, before Draco knocked on a door, the one opposite his own.

The door opened almost immediately. Mrs. Malfoy stood before them, smiling. "It's about time, I was wondering when—" She broke off as Harry made another attempt to jerk away from Draco. He couldn't see her, not after what he had done to her and her family. Being around Draco was bad enough; this was too much. "What's wrong?"

"Harry had a nightmare," Draco said, renewing his grip on Harry's wrist. "He's had them before, I don't know what's different this time, but he won't listen to me or calm down." Harry kept his eyes adverted as Mrs. Malfoy ushered them inside, closing the door behind them.

"Sit, give him this," she said, handing something to Draco.

"I've tried, he won't—"

"Try harder," she said insistently.

Draco turned Harry's face up to meet his, using all his force and almost definitely leaving bruises in his wake. "Eat this," he demanded, putting a piece of chocolate against unyielding lips. "Now. Don't embarrass me in front of my mother; do you know how humiliating it would be if I couldn't even get you to eat a piece of chocolate?"

Almost certainly an accident, but Draco's words hit home. Harry had already made his mum watch so much, he couldn't refuse her this. He opened his mouth and let Draco feed him the chocolate. It didn't help, did nothing to dispel the nightmare, but it pleased Draco, and that was good, he supposed.

Mrs. Malfoy appeared in front of him, and Harry looked away again. He caught a brief glance of something shimmery floating in the air, and the fact that her wand was raised. Good. Maybe he would finally, _finally_ get what he deserved.

"This isn't going to hurt, but it might feel strange at first," she said. Harry had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn't ask her, still couldn't look at her. He felt the tip of her wand against his temple and sighed, closing his eyes. This was it, actually, for real. He relaxed. Everything was going to be okay.

Then, instead of a burst of light or a spoken curse, he felt a slight tugging. What was—? His eyes flew open, and his suspicions were confirmed. A long, silvery thread stretched between his temple and Mrs. Malfoy's wand; she was taking the memory from him. Harry shrieked and backed away, but Draco had an arm around his shoulder and held him still.

"No!" Harry screamed. "No, stop, that's mine! Don't look, don't ever, no, stop, give it back!"

Mrs. Malfoy hushed him. "Just another moment."

Harry tried to jerk his head away, tried to grab at the strand, but it just passed through his fingers. And then it was gone, done, and Mrs. Malfoy put it into the Pensieve. Harry lurched forward, intent on destroying it before anyone could see, but Draco held him in place. He was crying again, partially in relief from having the nightmare gone, and he hated himself for that. He didn't deserve to feel better, didn't deserve anything other than a broken wand and exile at the very, _very_ least. Tears also fell out of fright, out of what Mrs. Malfoy would think of him when she saw what had been in his head.

"What is that?" Draco asked, keeping a firm hold on Harry.

"A Pensieve, darling. It's a holder of memories."

Harry's eyes were glued to it, and he could see it was different from the one in Dumbledore's office. Instead of being a flat sphere, it bowled downwards. The bulge was made of glass and memories swirled beneath the mirror-like surface. They were stored right there, in the Pensieve, rather than placed in vials on shelves. How convenient. Draco handed him another piece of chocolate and Harry ate it without thinking. He was staring at the silvery tendrils, mesmerized. His nightmare was there. The destruction and torture of the Malfoy family, ready and waiting for anyone who wanted to see. He reached for his wand before remembering Draco had taken it, having every intention of smashing the glass.

"Don't," he whispered. "Please, don't."

"I won't," Mrs. Malfoy said softly. "I would never look, not without your permission. But it's here now, not with you. Focus on yourself, on your body and mind. Can you feel how much lighter you are? You're rid of it, and I can see already how much better you look."

"She's right," Draco said quietly as his mum put the Pensieve back in a closet. "You don't look insane anymore."

Harry found that they were both right, and he fought to get the feeling back. It was _his_, he _deserved_ it, he _needed_ it. He couldn't remember the nightmare anymore, not specifically. Wisps floated through his mind, unconnected images he couldn't quite see. Mrs. Malfoy sat next to him, taking his hands in hers. They were warm and soothing, and Harry couldn't help relaxing, just a little. He was still fighting to get the dream back, but there weren't even any pieces left. Whatever it had been was gone. He had the lingering feeling that he shouldn't be anywhere near Draco or his mum, but without anything to back it up, he couldn't push away their comfort, not anymore.

Harry collapsed against Draco, burying his face in his neck, again sobbing, again shaking. How could anyone have this many tears in them? Draco stroked his back again and kissed the top of his head, keeping them pressed together. Mrs. Malfoy squeezed Harry's hands, letting him ride it out, neither of them pushing or complaining or even mentioning that hey, this was Christmas morning, maybe they should be doing something other than watching Harry have a complete emotional breakdown. With a jolt Harry realized the breakdown belonged to Draco; his father was in jail on Christmas Day, he should be the one who needed comfort, not Harry. But the thought only made him cry harder, rather than give him something to rally against, and he could do nothing other than sit and cry and try to remember how to breathe.

Partway through his outburst Mrs. Malfoy stood up. Harry was vaguely aware of the sounds of walking and bottles being pushed aside, and then she was handing him something, forcing a glass into his hand.

"Drink."

Harry didn't have the energy to refuse. He took a small sip and started coughing, nearly spilling the liquid everywhere.

"It's Lucius' finest brandy; finish what I gave you, it will help."

"Like chocolate for grownups," Draco said with a small smile. "I think it's horrid, but Mother makes me drink it on particularly bad nights."

Harry forced the burning liquid down and yes, almost immediately he calmed. His hands stopped shaking and his stomach was warm and the torrent of tears had slowed to a steady trickle. She took the glass back and replaced it with a box of tissues, which Harry took gratefully. He started to pull one out but Draco knocked his hand aside and did it for him, gently wiping his face, clearing away the physical traces of his nightmare. Mrs. Malfoy stood again and Harry heard the door open. He assumed she left, but instead he heard a summoning charm, and then she returned to his side. He looked over and saw his glasses sitting on her lap.

"For whenever you're ready," she said gently.

Draco turned Harry's face back to him and wiped away the last of the tears. He kissed his forehead, pulling him in for a hug. "Is it any better?" he whispered.

Harry nodded despite himself. He still had the vague suspicion that he shouldn't be feeling better, he deserved to be a wreck, but he couldn't remember why, and it seemed far away and unimportant. Mrs. Malfoy handed him his glasses and the world came into focus. He always forgot how good it was to be able to see clearly after a nightmare; a literal representation of his mind coming back together.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, looking down at the floor. Polished wood, though the couch was sitting on an old carpet, the pattern nearly faded completely. "For ruining Christmas morning, I mean. I shouldn't have—"

"Hush," Mrs. Malfoy said firmly. "Nightmares are nothing to apologize for, no matter when they take place."

"Would you like to have Christmas now?" Draco asked gently. "We could go do gifts, if you'd like. But if you need more time we can wait, it's fine."

Before Harry could answer, Mrs. Malfoy cut in. "Draco, my Draco, offering to wait to open gifts? Harry, that is nothing short of a miracle, and you should be well-aware of the implications. On his eighteenth birthday he left Blaise throwing up in the bathroom in favor of gifts. Three Christmases ago when I had the flu, he—"

"Mother," Draco cut in, flushing. "Stop it. You're embarrassing me."

"I suppose a complete list is unnecessary," she conceded. "But Harry, do not take those words lightly."

Harry blushed as well. "Er, thanks, I guess." Something had flashed through his head at the mention of presents, something dark and dangerous, but it was gone now, he thought. Surely the apprehension of gifts was just concern over whether his were good enough, right? A nightmare about Christmas gifts was just ridiculous, wasn't it? "Um, sure, we can do gifts now."

Draco smiled dazzlingly, and all his worries were dispelled. "Brilliant. Come on, let's go then." He stood, taking Harry's hand, and tugged him towards the door.

"Honestly, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy said, following them, "sometimes I never think you'll grow up."


	48. Chapter 48: Under the Tree

**A/N:** You…you guys…

I finished.

The whole thing.

Epilogue included.

My first novel is done.

O.O

It needs more editing and stuff, but here are some initial numbers for you:

1,231 pages.

317,076 words.

63 chapters (plus an epilogue).

You _guys_.

**Chapter Forty-Eight:**

_**Under the Tree**_

Harry had another flash of his nightmare when they walked into the sitting room. For a second it looked like the Christmas tree was on fire, but Harry blinked and the illusion was gone. The twinkling lights had gotten brighter, that was all. Mrs. Malfoy had summoned fairies since the last time they had been here, and their iridescent wings were sending off sparkles. No fire.

Mrs. Malfoy conjured three oversized pillows in a circle around the tree and they sat, Draco in the middle. He was practically glowing, but he held back for another moment, taking Harry's hand.

"You're _sure_ you're okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Harry said firmly. And, finally, it was true.

"Alright then." Draco let go and broke into a grin, contemplating the presents heaped beneath the tree. "Here, Mother, you first," he said, handing her a rectangular box. "It hardly counts, since you asked for it, but I thought this a proper delivery."

Mrs. Malfoy smiled. "In that case, dear, this is really from both of you. Don't be selfish."

Draco glanced at Harry, who looked confused. "No, actually, he doesn't know about it. I thought it would be better done impromptu."

"Dray, you're starting to make me nervous," Harry said. "What did you do?"

Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "Draco, thank you dear. It's perfect."

"What is it?" Harry asked, getting more and more anxious.

She turned the gift around. It was a picture of him and Draco from the Yule Ball, leading the procession up to the staff table. They were smiling and waving, looking far better than Harry remembered, especially himself. Since when did his hair lie flat, and how could his eyes be shining so brightly in a room lit only by candles? He didn't feel the need to focus on how handsome Draco was; he could see that any time he wanted. It was his own appearance that truly floored him.

"I asked Draco for a picture of the two of you at the Yule Ball," she said. "He delivered in spades, as he always does."

Draco smiled smugly. "Thank you, Mother. I had to speak to a _Hufflepuff_ to get it; apparently no one else in the entire castle owns a camera."

"Hush," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Your father isn't here, there's no need for such disdain." She set the frame down, ignoring Harry's obvious staring. She didn't care about such things? Really? That seemed so unlikely. "Go on, Draco, what's next?"

He handed her the travelling brooch, which she oohed and ahhed over, stating that it matched her cloak perfectly. Next he gave her Harry's bracelet, which she fussed over just as much if not more, and put on immediately. Harry was very flustered, and kept his eyes on his feet throughout this exchange.

"Okay, Harry, you next," Draco said, handing him a square box. "The ones from me first." As soon as Harry touched it, the package shrunk, leaving him holding a significantly smaller, but still square box. Harry unwrapped it nervously, wondering how his gifts for Draco would hold up to Draco's. Nestled inside the box was a silvery-green money pouch. Harry laughed.

"Still trying to get me into Slytherin colors, eh?" he asked, taking it out to fully examine. It was much heavier than he expected, and the sound of coins jingled from within. "Dray?"

"The hundred galleons I owe you from that Quidditch match," Draco said with a bit of a smile. "And the color is only incidental, I assure you. It's made of Moke-skin, and will shrink if anyone other than you tries to touch it. All proper wizards have one."

"Your efforts to turn me proper aren't going to work," Harry said. "But still, thanks. Very useful."

"I suppose we might as well get the useful things out of the way," Draco said, handing him a second package. It contained a yellow bottle exactly like the one in their shower at Hogwarts, and Harry laughed again.

"I told you, I'll never be respectable, no matter how you outfit or wash me."

"I can always try," Draco said.

Next was the gift bag, filled with a variety of healing potions and salves that Draco had made himself. He stated that since Harry was always getting in trouble, he might as well have a way of fixing himself up. Then a box of chocolates, which made Harry blush—they were from Le Chat Chocolat, just like the ones he had gotten Draco.

"Now," Draco said, handing him a package, "I know you insist you have a fully functioning pair, but we both know that's not true, so don't complain. Besides, these are dragon hide, so they'll last forever. And I've put a warming charm on them; it'll have to be renewed every month or so, but that way it'll wear off as the weather gets warmer."

By the time Harry had the box open he had a very good idea of what was in it, and he was right. A new pair of Quidditch gloves. He loved his old pair; they were his first, they were special, but there was no denying that these were far nicer, as well as more practical. No holes, the stitching wasn't unraveling, nor had they turned an unpleasant greenish brown from too many falls onto the dirt ground of the field.

"Thanks, Dray," Harry said, trying them on. They fit him perfectly—like a glove, so to speak—and were pleasantly warm. He flexed his hands experimentally; he would have thought dragon hide to be thick and unyielding, but the material was thin and allowed for all necessary movement. "Really. They're brilliant."

Draco grinned. "Excellent. We can test them out later." He glanced at his mum. "Ours next, then? Or should we do yours, and our friends' first?"

"Ours last, I think," she said. "I wouldn't want you boys distracted through the rest of unwrapping, or go running off in the middle to play."

Harry was extremely confused by this exchange, but accepted the small pile of gifts Draco handed him. All three boxes were very small. "These are from Mother," Draco said. "I think there's an order to them. Mum?"

"Green bow first," she said. "Then the red, and then silver."

"Right," Harry said, picking up the first box. Inside was a smaller black box, and inside that was a small coin. He picked it up, examining the tiny script. _Sanctimonia Vincet Sempur_. "I'm sorry, I don't speak Latin."

"Purity always conquers," Mrs. Malfoy said, a little uncomfortably. "Turn it over." The other side was emblazoned with the Malfoy crest. "We all have one," she said. "It's for good luck, to keep you safe when we aren't near by. I know the message is hardly to your taste, and Draco has informed me our crest makes you uncomfortable, but consider it my way of welcoming you into our home, and once again thanking you for everything you have done for us."

Harry would have hugged her if she was closer, though that urge only lasted a split second, and once it passed, he was glad she was farther away. "Thanks," he said, then cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"The next one," she said as Harry picked up the second box, "has been in our family for centuries; heaven knows why. Lucius insisted on keeping it as a sign of our power over Hogwarts, but I think you a better owner."

There was another small, black box and Mrs. Malfoy's speech had made him very nervous. He forced himself to take the top off. Sitting in a bed of velvet was a gold ring with a huge ruby set into it. Harry picked it up curiously, turning it over in his hands. Why would she—? And then he saw it, engraved on the inside of the band: _Godric Gryffindor_. He nearly dropped the ring.

"Is this—did it belong to him?" Harry asked.

"It did," Mrs. Malfoy said. "No doubt it belongs in a museum, or sitting high in the Gryffindor common room, but you'll find that a perk of our life; things that oughtn't be ours just fall into our hands."

Harry slipped the ring on the first finger of his left hand. At first it seemed much to big, but then it shrunk down to fit him perfectly. He was filled with a sudden surge of power and confidence and _justice_. He hastily took it off, and Mrs. Malfoy laughed.

"Yes, perhaps it is not for day-to-day wear. But it belongs with you. If you choose to pass it on to Hogwarts, I certainly will not fault you. You may do with it as you please."

"I can't even begin—"

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. "This last one is from Lucius and I, perhaps more him than me. I hope you don't take offense; Lucius has an odd sense of humor, and he insisted."

Again, the nervousness. But he forged ahead, and this time he wasn't greeted with a second box. No, a pair of socks fell onto his lap, striped in Slytherin green and silver. Harry stared at them in shock for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Mr.—Mr. _Malfoy _thought of this?" he gasped, pulling them on, noting Draco's frown.

Mrs. Malfoy smiled. "Like I said, he has an odd sense of humor. I am very glad you appreciate the sentiment. And do try to dress in a manner that he can see them this afternoon, would you? He deserves a chuckle or two."

"I don't understand," Draco said. "Socks? Why?" That only started Harry laughing again, and every time he tried to recover long enough to explain, it brought on another bout of laughter. Eventually Draco rolled his eyes and handed him three more gifts. "Longbottom, Jones and Luna," he said, pointing out each one.

Harry calmed enough to continue opening presents. Neville had given him a Remembrall, which made him smile and his heart ache at the same time. He squeezed the glass ball tightly for a moment before setting it aside. From Aurora was a book on the history of Aurors, perhaps the only kind of history Harry might find interesting, and Hermione would be pleased to see him taking his career path so seriously. Luna sent him a small dirigible plum plant, along with a note that said he should keep it near by at all times, as he had a tendency to get distracted easily.

Harry looked at the spread of gifts in front of him and nearly started crying again. Without a doubt he had the best friends anyone could ask for and, as the gifts from Mrs. Malfoy showed, perhaps a second surrogate family, another place he could call home. He hugged Draco and then, feeling a little awkward, his mum, thanking them both again for the gifts and for having him over break. And he still had one gift to go, the mysterious one from Draco and his mum. It had been set aside next to an identical box for Draco, and Harry eyed them curiously as Draco started on his gifts.

Draco opened the ones from his mum first—new sheet music, which prompted a brief conversation in what Harry thought might be German that he missed entirely, and a very bright lime green Fwooper quill. He summoned a scrap of paper and tried it out immediately before declaring it perfect.

Harry's nerves came back as Draco started on the gifts from him. He opened the chocolates first and they had a good laugh over the perfection of Le Chat Chocolat on the holidays. With a bit of trickery Harry arranged it so he opened the cloak next, and Draco was floored. He tried it on, going so far as to conjure a mirror so he could properly see himself.

"Harry, this is magnificent," he sighed, rubbing the lining against his face. "It's so bloody _soft_, I can't get over it."

"Harry, is that from Madame Alezae's shop?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

"I never caught her name," Harry said. "She was short and a bit scary—knew who I was and who I was shopping for just from the _Daily Prophet_—and gave me your discount."

Mrs. Malfoy laughed a little as Draco continued to preen. "Yes, that would be her. I can tell from here that she made it; the detailing is incredible, is it not?"

Harry wasn't one who could see such things, but Draco agreed enough for both of them. He finally took it off and carefully folded it before moving on to Harry's final gift. Harry had to force himself to keep from fidgeting. It was perfect. He knew it was. There wasn't any need to get nervous. Really. It would be fine. Still, in the infinite time it took Draco to unwrap it, Harry's stomach turned into a mass of butterflies, and by the time Draco was holding the frame in his hands, Harry was on the edge of hyperventilating. Harry watched Draco's face intently. First a mild interest, then confusion, and then, as he ran his fingers over the lower left corner, his jaw dropped.

"Well?" Mrs. Malfoy asked. "Do share, Draco. What is it?"

Draco's mouth opened a closed a few times before he could speak. "I—Harry, this is really his? An original? Not a first edition but the actual _parchment _he actually _wrote the poem on_? _This_ poem? My _favorite_? How on earth did you find this?"

Harry blushed furiously. "Yeah, it's all those things. I actually just asked; I sent Brian out with a letter and instructions to find whoever had it. Turned out it belonged to of Nicholas Skye's great granddaughters, and she gave it to me."

Draco carefully set the frame down as though it might explode. "Mother, this is my favorite Nicholas Skye poem. The original, that the man himself wrote, not a printed copy, but the actual original."

"Harry, I'm very impressed," she said quietly. "Not even I have managed such a feat, and I was the one who acquired all of Draco's first editions."

"This is…" Draco trailed off, running his fingers over the frame. Then he launched himself at Harry, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Harry hugged him back, a small smile playing across his face. "You're welcome."

"Merlin, I feel like such a prick," Draco said, sitting back down, eyes going back to the framed poem. "Quidditch gloves can hardly compare to _this_."

"Dray, you're presents were perfect," Harry said, a little embarrassed. "Really. Go on, open the rest, from our friends."

Still in somewhat of a daze, Draco did as instructed. Neville got him a small box of Tentacula leaves, presumably legally acquired. Aurora sent herbs and powders only available in American for potions, a fitting trade given what Draco had gotten her. Luna gave him a plant as well; agrimony, which, she said, would provide protection and help his sleep. Draco was pleased with all of these, but his eyes kept being drawn back to the poem, and Harry found he was rather pleased with himself.

"Alright, Draco, it's time," Mrs. Malfoy said, handing one of the boxes to Harry and the other to Draco. "These are from both of us, like I said."

The shape of the boxes changed as soon as they touched their recipients' hands, and Harry gaped. It was clear from the shape what it was, though he couldn't imagine why she and Draco had chosen this particular gift. He and Draco already had top of the line brooms, the best available on the market.

"Go on, open it," Draco urged, beginning the meticulous process of unwrapping his.

Harry tore the paper off and continued to stare in amazement. The engraving at the end of the tail said it was a _Silverlight 2/2_, which he had never heard of. The wood was oak, that was one of the few Harry could routine recognize, and was polished so smoothly he could see the reflection of the fairy lights in the Christmas tree. The wood hummed, and Harry was itching to take it out. The broom practically demanded it of him.

"These are custom made," Mrs. Malfoy said. "The only two in the world. They reflect your Quidditch positions as well as your personalities—headstrong, determined and, most of all, your love of flight. They were made by a friend of our owl breeder, Sileas Lochellen. As far as I know she is the only purveyor of custom brooms, and believe me, it took a lot of convincing to get her to make anything so last minute; usually her waiting list stretches for years. Draco's name was already penned in, but I managed to get you squeezed in as well, Harry."

Harry quickly checked the end of Draco's broom _Silverlight 1/2_. The numbers were the editions of the broom. One and two. The only two in existence. He treasured his Firebolt for its performance and loyalty, though mostly because it had been a gift from Sirius, and it was one of the few things he had left. He would never retire his Firebolt, not completely, but the Silverlight, it was like it already knew what he wanted it to do, and he hadn't even mounted it yet.

"Go on, then," Mrs. Malfoy said. "We've got a few minutes until brunch. I promised I'd write and tell her how you liked them."

Harry's new gloves were on his hands before he realized, Draco wrapped himself in his new cloak and they ran outside through the back door, taking advantage of the heated pathway. Harry mounted the broom and didn't even have to think _fly_ before he was off.

It was almost scary. He had never flown this fast before, hadn't even known it was possible. The broom responded like no other, causing him to do a series of Wronski Feints just to prove he could. Then he rocketed as high up as possible, finding he needed to stop because the air was getting too thin, not because the broom couldn't handle it. He flew back down in a series of corkscrews and rolls, pushing the broom as much as he could. It stayed with him through every second, showing no signs of strain. He flew over to Draco's side and grinned at him.

"This is brilliant!" Harry shouted. They were flying so fast that even the minimal breeze of the day was whipped up into a gale.

"I know! I can't bloody wait to get back on the Quidditch field!"

Harry smirked at him. "What, the Malfoys don't have their own private field to go with their custom brooms?"

Draco took the jibe in stride. "We have got miles and miles of forest to fly over—but I'm afraid that excursion will have to wait for another day. We've got to get back down for brunch, I can see Sunny jumping up and down from here."

Harry had never been sadder to get off a broom before in his life.


	49. Chapter 49: Azkaban

**A/N:** Okay wow so sorry this is going up so late. Have some reasons:

~ I didn't fall asleep until six-thirty am.

~ Then I was up from nine-thirty to eleven, and then two to three or so

~ I woke up after the sun went down at quarter of seven

~ The first thing that happened is one of my best friends messaged me saying a friend of hers who I've never met is stranded at South Station and needs a place to crash until Wednesday. He has ten dollars. It's the middle of a hurricane.

~ Discussion with my parents about this

Other notable things:

~ It's the middle of a hurricane. We might lose power for an undefined amount of time. Thus, if updates suddenly stop, that's why. They'll resume as soon as we're back online.

~ …I guess that was only one thing. Whoops.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Forty-Nine:**

_** Azkaban**_

Brunch remained festive, but the moment Sunny cleared the table, the mood dropped. The air became thick and heavy and unpleasant, as if Dementors already surrounded them. They were eating in the blue dining room, which meant the chairs were close enough that Draco could reach over and hold Harry's hand beneath the table, bumping their knees together. Mrs. Malfoy closed her eyes for a moment before standing.

"There is no need for dress robes," she stated calmly. "Do wear something nice, though. Draco, perhaps the cashmere sweater your father gave you last Christmas?" Draco nodded. "Very good. Harry, I'm sure you have something appropriate. Remember: no wands, no food, no jewelry, nothing sharp, nothing that could be used as a weapon. No shoelaces; Draco, I know you have loafers, perhaps you could lend Harry a pair if he doesn't?" Draco nodded again. "Alright then. Get ready quickly, we must leave as soon as possible. I should not have allowed brunch to go on as long as I did, but—" She cut herself off, visibly regaining composure. "Ready yourselves and meet me back in the front hall."

Draco dressed quickly and easily; a black long-sleeved shirt, black sweater, black slacks, black socks, black loafers. He always looked good, there was no need for him to put in any extra effort. Harry searched frantically through his drawer for something that met the criteria, but it seemed he had brought only casual, Muggle clothes or his dress robes from the Yule Ball, and nothing in between.

"Dray—"

"I know, stand up." Harry stood before him and Draco dressed him properly—black slacks, jade green shirt and black loafers. "Good. Now come here." Harry walked over to his vanity and Draco squeezed a small amount of goo into his hands, rubbing them together and then sliding them through Harry's hair. "Not as good as the conditioner, but it will have to do." Draco set his wand down and gazed mournfully at it, no doubt wishing he could bring it along. Harry didn't fancy the idea of being in Azkaban wandless either, but it didn't seem they had much of a choice.

"Ready?" Harry asked, taking his hand, trying to offer at least a little comfort.

"Nearly." Draco took Harry's other hand and kissed him, slowly and carefully. "I love you," he whispered, leaning their foreheads together.

"I love you, too." Harry squeezed his hands, and Draco squeezed back. Then he let go altogether, and straightened. "Come. We don't want to be late." He grabbed their travelling cloaks as they left, handing Harry his. "It's cold there," Draco said, wrapping himself in it. "I'd wear the one you gave me—Merlin knows I'd rather—but I think the occasion calls for something more somber."

"Yeah, of course."

Mrs. Malfoy apparated them to Azkaban. They landed smoothly, and the first thing Harry registered was a huge sign directly in front of him.

**AZKABAN PRISON**

**NO WANDS**

**WAIT HERE TO BE SEARCHED**

**DO NOT TRY TO ENTER ON YOUR OWN**

He turned around and saw they were in a small enclosure, surrounded by barbed wire and, presumably, enough spells to melt anyone who tried to walk through. They were butted up against the prison itself and a large, metal door sat in the middle of the far wall. He could hear the ocean crashing against rocks somewhere, but couldn't see it, or much of anything, from their holding space. Harry looked up. It seemed the wall stretched on forever; smooth, grey stone, a single row of windows cut vertically into the side. He could make out the top, but only barely, and looking that high made his neck ache uncomfortably.

Before he even had a chance to look away, coldness washed over him. He gasped, blindly reaching out for Draco, who took his arm and steadied him. A trio of Dementors floated down in front of them, and Harry's vision went green. His mother was begging, Voldemort was laughing, a flash of even brighter green and the dead thump of her body hitting the floor. Voldemort moved forward, moved towards Harry sitting in his crib, and then the scene whirled away and he was in the Department of Mysteries and Bellatrix screamed a curse and Sirius fell backwards into the veil, gone forever, the only family he had ever known destroyed. Bellatrix laughed and skipped through the aisles of prophecies, singing _I killed Sirius Black, I killed Sirius Black_, and that was gone, replaced by the Astronomy Tower. Draco was lowering his wand and Snape uttered the killing curse and Dumbledore fell, fell so very, very far. Harry stayed out of sight as the Death Eaters swept past him, then running down and collapsing over Dumbledore's dead body, heaving great, heavy sobs, and then he was in the Great Hall and bodies were everywhere, survivors being cared for, and—

"_Harry_!"

Harry's eyes flew open. Narcissa was crouched over him, resting a hand on his forehead. He had fainted? It had been years since Dementors had effected him so strongly. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around. The Dementors were gone, replaced by two wizards in uniform. They were scanning Draco with something, some sort of magic detector, Harry guessed, and Draco stood tall and straight, no doubt completely unaffected by the Dementors who plagued him so.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Malfoy asked. "I tried to persuade the guards to give me a chocolate bar, but they wouldn't. Claimed they didn't have any; as if there was any other way they could survive working here." Her face and eyes were hard, but she was on his side, and Harry found it comforting.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Harry said, standing shakily, leaning on the arm Mrs. Malfoy offered. Draco was ushered through the door and then she was called over, leaving Harry by himself. He looked up and saw the Dementors were still there, hovering halfway up the building, looking down at them, as much as they could look anywhere. Harry was still cold, and memories were fluttering at the back of his mind, but as long as they kept a distance, he was all right.

Mrs. Malfoy was ushered through the door and then it was Harry's turn. The guards were impassive as they swept Harry. The only time they showed any emotion at all was when he held out his arms, like in the Muggle world; they looked at him strangely and he dropped them, blushing furiously. He kept his eyes on the loafers Draco had conjured him until he, too, was allowed to pass.

Harry joined Draco and his mum in a small cement room. A line of guards stood along one wall, the two who frisked them rejoining their ranks. There was a door opposite them but, otherwise, the room was empty. No monitors, nothing that indicated they had any idea of what was going on within the prison. It made Harry very nervous.

Draco stepped back and slid his hand into Harry's. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay with you," he whispered. "The guards, they're very demanding."

"I'm fine," he said. "It's just when they're really close like that."

"Then you better get yourself together," Draco replied. "They're everywhere inside, and they have a tendency of popping up unexpectedly."

_Brilliant_, Harry thought to himself.

The door opened and another guard stepped through. The line against the wall saluted him, and he saluted back. Then he turned to Harry and the Malfoys. "Narcissa Malfoy, Draco Lucius Malfoy and Harry James Potter," he read off a clipboard. "Here to see Lucius Malfoy."

"That is correct," Mrs. Malfoy said.

"You have already been inspected by the Dementors and our guards, correct?"

"Yes," she replied stiffly. "And I would like to lodge a complaint. Your Dementors—"

"Complaints are lodged in a different department, ma'am. If you chose, you may be escorted there after your visit," the guard said. "My name is Guard Swift and I will be your escort. Follow me."

Deep frown lines creased Mrs. Malfoy's face, but smoothed quickly enough. "Of course. Draco, Harry, come."

The first corridor they walked through was empty, but Harry could feel magic buzzing around him. Presumably there were spells everywhere, waiting to trip up any unwanted visitors or potential escapees. Then they entered the prison proper. They walked down a walkway suspended in the middle of the room, leaving an enormous drop between them and either side of the prison. Silencing charms had been cast so Harry couldn't hear what the inmates were saying, but he saw their mouths moving. They were led up a staircase, down another walkway and then entered through a black door marked **DEATH EATERS**. Harry shivered, and blamed it on the temperature. They continued halfway down the walkway and then the guard turned and tapped the railing three times. It opened up and another walkway slid out in front of them.

"Lucius Malfoy is in there," he said, gesturing. "I will remain here for the entire hour. You may interact with the prisoner as you wish, at your own peril. I am well trained, but there is only so much I can do if a Death Eater sets his mind to kill you. Merry Christmas."

Harry thought that a bizarre speech, but held his tongue, quietly following Mrs. Malfoy and Draco across the walkway. He stepped aside as soon as they arrived on the landing, keeping out of Mr. Malfoy's sight, as planned. He looked away from Mrs. Malfoy's greeting, away from Draco, very far away from the cell itself.

The problem, though, was that he was Harry Potter, and was instantly recognizable by every witch and wizard here. Silencing charms no longer protected him, and he had to listen to the screams of outrage, the meaningless curses thrown at him, the promises to hunt him down and destroy him as soon as they were set free. Harry sunk to the floor, resting against the cold, concrete wall, hanging his head between his knees. An hour of this, all so somebody who didn't want to see him could ignore him the whole time. Just how he wanted to spend Christmas.

He forced himself to think of the Burrow. The warm welcome he would receive, the hugs from his friends and their families, a home cooked dinner cooked by Molly Weasley. He hadn't seen the Weasley family since the Final Battle, and while he was a little nervous they wouldn't be happy about that, he knew he would be welcomed with open arms. Ron's flaming orange room. The ghoul in the attic. Gnomes in the garden. The way the house tilted. Fields and marsh surrounding them. He clamped his hands over his ears, trying vainly to block out the Death Eaters. _The Burrow_, he thought. _The Burrow, The Burrow, The Burrow. _He started listing off everyone he was going to be seeing, just to give his mind something to do. _Ron. Hermione. Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley. Ginny. George. Bill. Fleur. Charlie. Percy. Pig. Errol. Maybe a few stray aunts and uncles_. He wasn't thrilled at seeing Percy, but he reminded himself that he had come through when it had mattered and, even if he was incredibly dull, he was still family. He was downright terrified to see George; if he blamed him for Fred's death, Harry could hardly rebuke him. But it would be okay, he'd be with friends and family, Draco would be at his side, it would have to be.

Harry felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped, slamming his head back against the concrete wall. "Bloody hell, Draco," he muttered, rubbing the spot. "You could've warned me."

Draco frowned at him. "I did. Repeatedly. You didn't answer. Father wants to see you."

Mustering all his courage Harry stood and walked over to his cell. Mr. Malfoy was gaunt and unshaved, though he didn't seem capable of growing anything other than scraggly stubble. His robes hung off him and Harry was vividly reminded of his nightmare when they had both been Kissed. The difference, the only thing that kept him from slipping back into the dream was Mr. Malfoy's expression: he was calm and smiling, holding Mrs. Malfoy's hand through the bars, resting the other on Draco's shoulder.

"I'm wearing the socks," Harry blurted out.

Mr. Malfoy's smile widened. "Good. Consider it a peace offering, a gesture of goodwill. You are hereby freed from my bad graces."

Harry was still incredibly nervous, and again said the first thing that came to mind. "Merry Christmas."

"To you as well," he replied. "I couldn't ask for a better gift than to see my wife and son. Draco informed me you were blocking out all sound, but he also told me that you know of our caroling tradition. I was instructed—rather rudely, I might add—to inform you we did indeed sing together."

"That's good," Harry said. "I wasn't a good substitute."

"So I was told."

Familiar coldness started to wash over Harry. He turned around; a small fleet of Dementors was advancing on them. His vision started to turn green but this time he pushed it back. _Draco_, he thought firmly. _Draco lying in bed next to me. Draco holding me. Draco flying with me. Draco underneath me, clenching around me. _Not aware he was doing it, Harry raised his wand arm, felt the magic tingling down to his hand.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

The silvery blue stag shot out from his hand and drove the Dementors back, far back, then down through the floor. It returned to them and Mr. Malfoy closed his eyes and let out a huge sigh.

"Oh, Harry, you have no idea—"

A hand grabbed Harry's arm roughly. "No magic," Guard Swift said angrily. "Wandless or otherwise. There should be dampeners in here; how did you get past them? What did you do?"

Harry tried to jerk away, but the guard was very, very strong. "I don't know!" he protested. "It just happened!"

"Just happened, eh?" the guard said. "We'll see about that." He held out his own wand and simply said, "Back up." Two more guards apparated next to him, and Harry thought it very strange that he wasn't supposed to be able to do magic but the guards could so easily. "Take this boy to the holding room," he said, letting go so suddenly Harry nearly fell. "Leave him there until I can talk to him."

"Yes, Guard Swift." Harry's arm was grabbed again, and then he was in a tiny concrete cell with no doors or windows. There wasn't even a chair for him to sit on. The guards who brought him here disapparated before Harry could ask anything and he stood, staring at the blank wall for a few minutes. Then he sat, staring at the blank wall. It wasn't like there was anything else he could do. He wondered idly if he could be imprisoned himself for his Patronus, but he thought it unlikely. Far more realistic was the prospect of being questioned for hours on end, not allowed any food or water. Eventually the Weasleys would get suspicious and send someone to Malfoy Manor to check on him. Mrs. Malfoy and Draco would no doubt be forced to return as soon as their visit was over, and they would greet the visitor. The Weasleys would be informed he was being kept locked in a cell in Azkaban and all hell would break loose, effectively destroying everyone's Christmas.

Harry sighed. How was it he always managed to get himself into these situations? He didn't even have the healing kit Draco gave him, not that it would help. His head had already stopped aching from hitting it against the wall, and he didn't think Draco had included anything for breaking out of Azkaban, or even sending a message to worried friends. He knew Patronuses could be used to send messages, but he had never done it before and didn't know how to go about the spell. And really, the point was moot anyway. He didn't have his wand, and his grasp of performing spells without one was very limited indeed. He didn't know how he had done it earlier, but he was pretty sure he couldn't repeat it. And even if he could, getting into more trouble didn't seem like a good idea.

His thoughts slid to Dumbledore. If only he were here, if only he was alive, he would know what to do. No doubt he could just command the guards to let him go and they would. Or he could apparate in and whisk Harry away with him. At the very least, Harry was certain he could send a message; one to him, telling him he was going to be okay, one to the Malfoys, comforting them and one to the Weasleys, warning them he would be late. Of course, even if Dumbledore was alive, he no doubt had more important things to do than visit convicted Death Eaters on Christmas Day and likely wouldn't hear about it until the _Daily Prophet_ got ahold of the story, which they certainly would. Harry could picture the headline with vivid clarity: _**GOLDEN BOY IMPRISONED FOR PERFORMING ILLEGAL MAGIC**_. No doubt they would find out about his trial years ago for the same offense and paint him as some sort of madman, throwing off spells at anyone and everyone whenever he felt like it with no regard for the regulations.

Harry chose to blame his plight on Gryffindor's ring. If he hadn't been affected by such strong magic this morning, he wouldn't have been able to perform the charm at all. Yes, he would have passed out again, making a fool of himself, but at least he wouldn't be locked up. Stupid Gryffindors, always meddling where they didn't belong. Always having to be the hero. He had seen the expression of relief on Mr. Malfoy's face, see him stand taller as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It would have been one thing if he had summoned his Patronus on purpose to help his boyfriend's father; it was another entirely that he did it by accident to protect himself. More of a Slytherin move than a Gryffindor one, really.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed when three people apparated in front of him. Mrs. Malfoy, looking absolute furious, and scarier than Harry had ever seen her. This was the true Malfoy coming out; never mind what she said about a lack of disdain towards other houses or how warm and kind she had been to Harry: this was the blazing fury of a Malfoy and a Malfoy alone. Harry had only ever been on the receiving end of such anger, and even now with Mrs. Malfoy on his side, it was still terrifying. Beside her stood Guard Swift and a man in a suit; the warden, maybe? Harry scrambled to his feet, hoping he looked at least vaguely presentable.

"Of all the wizards to break through our spells, somehow I'm not surprised the feat was accomplished by Harry Potter," the man in the suit said. "And wandless, no less. Very impressive."

Harry stared at him. This was not the reaction he usually got when he broke the rules. "Um," he said. "Thanks. It was an accident."

"Yes, no doubt," the man in the suit said. "Only the unbridled passion of the unplanned could be strong enough. We can hardly hold you accountable for actions beyond your control, now can we?"

Guard Swift looked furious at this, Mrs. Malfoy still behind her blazing fury, and Harry stood, utterly confused. They could indeed, and very easily. "Er, no?"

"Very good. You may go, though you are prohibited from returning to Azkaban until we reformulate our spells," the man in the suit said. "I'm sure you understand."

"Right."

The man in the suit took out his wand and muttered something very quietly. A blue wave of light flew across the room. "The apparating charm has been lifted, you and Mrs. Malfoy are free to return to your day," he said. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Harry echoed.

Mrs. Malfoy shot Guard Swift a look of pure fury before turning to the man in the suit. "The Ministry will hear about this, mark my words."

"I am sure they will," he replied. "I look forward to speaking with them."

Her lips turned up in a snarl. She grabbed Harry's arm and they disapparated immediately, landing in the sitting room of Malfoy Manor. Draco had been sitting on a couch but he jumped up at their return, rushing over to hug Harry.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing?" Harry said, still not quite believing it. "I sat in a room for a while, and then a man in a suit appeared and said I could go. I don't even know who he was."

"The warden," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Jack Wanderer. He may have seemed cordial, Harry, but believe me, his actions toward you stemmed from nothing other than your name and my threats." She took a deep breath and seemed to calm. "However accidental your magic was, it was still an extremely impressive feat. I'm afraid my kiss and Draco's singing paled in comparison to your Patronus; Lucius was finally able to relax, and be at peace. The stag remained throughout the rest of our stay and, for all I know, is still there. Thank you."

"Uh, sure," Harry replied. Draco had released him but he remained at his side, holding onto his hand very tightly.

"Draco has informed me you have an afternoon and dinner engagement, so I won't keep you any longer," Mrs. Malfoy said, almost returned to her normal self. "I told Sunny to pack and send your luggage ahead to Switzerland; I trust there was nothing you need for your plans? I can have her fetch it if there's a problem."

"No, it's fine," Harry said. "I just need my wand."

"The same holds for me," Draco said. "We will return to my room and then say our goodbyes?"

"Yes, that's fine," Mrs. Malfoy replied. "Have you an idea of when I can expect you in Zermatt?"

Draco looked at Harry, who shrugged. "Would you like us back at a certain time?"

"No, it's quite alright." She sighed and put a hand to her head. "I'm getting an awful headache. I think I need a good sit in the sauna. Would you object to an immediate departure?"

"Not at all, Mother," Draco replied. "Whatever you need."

She hugged him and kissed his forehead, then hugged Harry. "I will see you this evening," she said. "Or perhaps tomorrow morning, if I retire early. Do not fret if I do; you know how Azkaban wears on a person even without needing to rescue Harry."

Harry flushed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"All the rescuing in the world is worth it to see Lucius smile," she said. "I'll see you boys later. Send my regards to the Weasleys." And then she vanished.

Draco hugged Harry again, very tightly. "Don't ever do that again," he said firmly. "You scared me half to death. I haven't seen Mother so angry in ages. Father was the one who kept us from going crazy; your Patronus had such a strong effect on him, it was wonderful. It was like he was his old self again." He finally pulled away. "Well, we might as well get going. No use in fretting about things over and done with." They walked up to Draco's room, fetched their wands—Draco had to unlock his closet door, which took a few minutes of fiddling as he wasn't used to such strong charms, even from himself—and then they disapparated.


	50. Chapter 50: The Burrow

**A/N:** Happy hurricane! We've still got power (obviously), though the winds did wake me up considerably earlier than I wanted to be woken up. Other than that, all's well. According to Facebook power outages are getting steadily closer and closer to my house, but we haven't lost power in so long I literally can't remember, so I think we'll be good. Plus we haven't even had any flooding yet! I'm not actually sure if it's raining; it's very dark out, and it's certainly _winding_, but I'd have to go someplace other than my bed to tell about the rain.

A special thank you for all of your reviews! We're closing in on 500, guys. _Five hundred_. Today marked going over 100k views (holy Merlin) and over 200 favorites. You're incredible, each and every single one of you.

Anyway. Ahem. Back to the story. Enjoy, my friends!

**Chapter Fifty:**

_**The Burrow**_

The sound was so loud that at first Harry could barely hear it at all, could only feel the pressure on his eardrums and the shaking of the ground beneath his feet. Then it registered as a Caterwauling Charm, magnified far beyond its usual scream. Harry thought Draco might be saying something to him but he hadn't any idea what. Three figures burst out the front door of the Burrow—Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, followed by Bill, wands raised. Harry waved his arms in the air, but he was still holding his wand, and, a split second after it was too late, he realized that must have looked like an attack.

Harry had no idea whose curse hit him; the Caterwauling Charm was still in effect, dampening any and all other sounds. His reaction time was significantly decreased by the pounding in his ears and he didn't have time to block the spell or jump out of its way. A red jet of light hit him square in the chest and the last thing he registered was being knocked backwards before everything faded to black.

Harry woke up on the Weasley's couch. He felt a cool compress on his forehead, and a very concerned, slightly embarrassed Molly Weasley was leaning over him. Ron and Hermione were there as well, and the rest of the Weasleys were hovering in the background.

"Harry, dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "I'm so sorry; the Caterwauling Charm was so loud, and it really did look like you were raising your wand, and the curse just slipped out before I could stop it."

"It's fine," Harry said, struggling into a sitting position. "Was it the apparating that set it off?"

Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look with her husband, and flushed slightly. "No, nothing like that. Here, have some water," she said, pushing a glass into Harry's hands.

He drank slowly, again looking at everyone in the room. There were two people Harry didn't recognize but their resemblance to Hermione led Harry to assume they were her parents. Everyone else he had been expecting, but—

"Where's Draco?"

This time it was Bill who looked chagrined. "You've got to understand, everything happened so quickly," he started. "And with you raising your wand like that, and the Caterwauling Charm, well, it's triggered by the Dark Mark, we just—"

"Where's Draco?" Harry interrupted sharply. "Is he alright? What's happened?"

"He's fine," Hermione said soothingly. "He's just resting. Dittany can take a lot out of a wizard."

"_Dittany_?" Harry yelled. "What did you _do _to him?"

"_Reducto_," Bill said quietly. "He managed to deflect most of it, but not entirely. He got a bit—slashed up, that's all. Hermione was very quick with the Dittany; it won't even scar."

"You—what—" Harry struggled to stand, and Mrs. Weasley pushed him down.

"He's in the guest room, just down the hall," she said gently.

"How long was I out for?" Harry asked.

"Just a few minutes," Mrs. Weasley said. "I saw it was you at the last moment; it was too late to retract the charm, but I pulled back as much as I could."

"And Draco's okay?" he asked again.

"He's fine," Bill repeated. "He'd be here with you, but we don't have the couch space to accommodate both of you. And—well, he didn't seem to thrilled to be surrounded by Weasleys, especially after I—" He cleared his throat. "Well, you know."

"Bill 'as nothing to apologize for," Fleur said sternly, laying a hand on her husband's shoulder. "'Ee was protecting 'ees family."

Bill shook his head sharply. "Fleur, not now."

"Hmmf," she said, but stayed silent.

"I'll just go fetch him then, shall I?" Hermione said. "Now that you can both sit up there's room, and it being Christmas, I think we should all be together, don't you?" Before anyone could answer she left, weaving her way through the crowded room, and returned a moment later with Draco. He looked furious, nearly as upset as his mum had been, and had a firm hold on his left arm. He shot a withering look at Bill as he sat, who held his gaze for a moment before looking away. Silence reigned; Harry knew the Weasleys had only been defending themselves, he knew how it must have looked to them, but the day was starting to wear him down, Christmas or not. His awful nightmare, or whatever it had been; going to Azkaban; nearly getting locked up himself; then being greeted with curses instead of hugs. His head was starting to ache.

"Here," Ron said suddenly, holding out a plate of Christmas cookies. "We saved some for you."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking one and nibbling at the edge of the sugar cookie. Draco refused entirely, and any hopes Harry had of this being an easy, joyful visit flew out the window. "You should open our gift," he said, eyeing the small pile of gifts left under the tree. "It's from both of us, for all of you. Mostly you, Mrs. Weasley, but I think the whole family will appreciate it."

"Harry, you didn't have to do that," she said, but picked up the box and set it on the table. "Really, dear, this is—_oh!_ Ron, did you tell Harry to get these?" she asked.

"Might have let it slip," Ron said. "You've been complaining for ages about our pots, and—"

"And it's not Harry's responsibility to restock our kitchen!" she said sternly. Then she turned to Harry, all upset gone. "These are wonderful. Thank you, both of you. Just what we needed."

"It's nothing," Harry said, a bit awkwardly. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Mrs. Weasley replied. "And here, these are for you," she added, handing the boys identical packages. Harry pulled on his new sweater immediately; he had forgotten to change out of the clothes he wore to Azkaban, and it felt much better to be wrapped in a Weasley sweater. The emerald green matched the shirt Draco had magicked for him almost exactly; apparently there was a conspiracy afoot to dress him in only green. There was also a box of her homemade fudge, and Harry gave her an awkward hug over the table.

"Thank you," he said. "Really. My last sweater—well, it got put through its paces last year."

Mrs. Weasley bristled. "Never you mind," she said. "Draco, does yours fit? I wasn't sure about the size."

For the first time Harry noticed he had already taken off the sweater he had been wearing earlier, and it was easy enough to see why—his shirt had a gash through the sleeve, and it must have destroyed the sweater entirely. Very, very reluctantly, Draco pulled on the Weasley sweater, his knit in grey with a green D in the middle.

"Fit's fine," he said stiffly. "Thanks."

"Family traditions, and all," Mrs. Weasley said awkwardly.

More silence. Harry helped himself to another sugar cookie, trying to calm his stomach. He had known bringing Draco to the Weasleys was risky, he just hadn't thought it would be quite this bad.

"These are my parents," Hermione said abruptly, pulling them forward. "Mum, Dad, you've already met Harry. This is Draco, his boyfriend."

"Nice to meet you," they said, holding out hands. Draco winced but shook them.

"Delighted."

"Maybe the four of you would be more comfortable in Ron's room," Mrs. Weasley suggested. "We can fetch you when dinner is ready."

"Sounds brilliant," Ron said. He grabbed the rest of the gifts from under the tree and started out of the room.

"I'm just going to get some more water," Harry said. "I'll be up in a minute." He went into the kitchen and took a deep breath, needing a moment to steady himself. _Merlin_, this day was just _too much_. He heard footsteps behind him and whirled around, fully expecting Fleur to yell at him. She had clearly been extremely displeased with both him and Draco, and he thought there was a chance he was going to be hexed again.

But it was George instead of Fleur, and Harry's stomach dropped. He would have gladly taken the curse over time alone with George. He had his back to Harry and was looking through the refrigerator, closing the door only when he found a small item wrapped in tinfoil. He turned to Harry and offered him a weak smile.

"Bundt cakes infused with acid pops," he said, unwrapping it. "You need to keep it refrigerated so the acid doesn't burn through the cake."

"I see," Harry replied.

"Fred and I had a tradition, seeing how many we could eat before Mum caught us and made us stop. He nearly burnt away his entire tongue one year," George said. He looked at the lone cake in his hand and uttered a heart-wrenching sigh. "Just the one this year. Cheers." He popped the cake in his mouth, expression quickly turning from nostalgic to pain-filled as the acid worked its way through his mouth. He swallowed with a huge gulp. "Rubbish tradition," he said, pointing his wand at his mouth and repairing the damage.

"I think it's brilliant," Harry said firmly, and George smiled sadly.

"Thanks, mate. Merry Christmas.

"Merry Christmas."

George left. Harry refilled his glass of water, and, discreetly as possible, started the long walk up to Ron's room.

"Harry."

He flinched. Another person he had been hoping to avoid. He turned and saw Ginny standing halfway up the staircase, looking at him.

"Hey, Gin," he said carefully. This was the first time they had spoken since she had cursed Draco; it had been all angry stares and averted eyes. "How're you doing?"

"Oh, you know," she said vaguely, walking up to the landing where he stood. "Enjoying the holidays. They had actually been peaceful, until you showed up."

"My real gift," Harry said, trying for a joke. "Creating chaos wherever I go."

Ginny winced at the pathetic attempt. "Yeah, well, I just wanted to clear the air between us," she said. "There's no reason—you've been a friend for years, you're practically part of the family, there's no reason to keep up this fight forever."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. "For everything. I should have been there for you after the Battle, I should have—"

Ginny shook her head, silencing him. "We both should have done something more, but we didn't." She paused. "I'm dating Dean again, did you hear? He asked me out at the Yule Ball." She giggled slightly. "Parvati wasn't pleased to see her date go home with another girl."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I'd imagine not."

"And, y'know, as for you and Draco…" She trailed off and shrugged. "I don't have any idea what you see in him, but best wishes, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "You too, for you and Dean."

They shuffled awkwardly and then Harry pulled her into a hug. She returned it, squeezing him tightly before letting him go. "I'm really glad you came for Christmas," Ginny said. "Last year, it wasn't the same without you."

"Yeah, me too," Harry said. "Merry Christmas, Gin."

"Merry Christmas." She smiled at him. "Now go on, I think Malfoy might kill someone if you're not there to keep an eye on him. You should have heard him when Dad brought him in; Merlin, I thought someone had been killed."

Harry laughed a little. "Yeah. See you around?"

"Yeah, definitely."

Harry made it to Ron's room without any further encounters, and braced himself, praying to Merlin and Dumbledore and anyone else he could think of that he wouldn't walk in on a duel. He creaked the door open, and breathed a sigh of relief. Ron and Hermione were sitting on Ron's bed and Draco sat on a comfy looking small couch, obviously conjured for the occasion, as it took up all available floor space.

"Hey," Harry said, striving to sound jovial and Christmas-y. He sat next to Draco, putting a hand on his knee. He jerked at the surprise contact, but laid a hand on Harry's. "Presents then?"

"Yeah," Ron said, going through the jumble he had brought up. "Here, Harry, these are from me and 'Mione."

Harry opened the packages; Ron had gotten him an assortment of gifts from George's joke shop, no doubt ensuring further chaos, and Hermione gave him a copy of _Practical Household Magic_.

"I told you, Harry, you really ought to start learning such things yourself," she said. "Especially since we're graduating this year; who are you going to turn to when you've got your own flat and you've accidentally exploded dinner all over everything?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Hermione. Very practical."

"I also got you some chocolate," she said, passing him a bar. "Ron insisted the book was too—dull, I think his word was?—to suffice on its own."

Harry grinned. "He's brilliant, that one. You should keep him around." Ron and Hermione exchanged a look at that, and Harry narrowed his eyes. "What? What's going on?"

"It's nothing," Hermione said quickly. "Go on, Draco, here, these are—"

"No, wait," Harry interrupted. "That look, I saw that. Tell me what's going on."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other again. "Do you want to?" she asked. "Or should I?"

"I reckon I could handle it," Ron said, though he was a bright red. "If you don't want to, that is."

"No, no, it's fine, go on."

"Oh, just out with it already!" The outburst came from Draco, startling everyone. "Merlin's beard, it's obvious enough, I could tell Harry myself. If you don't want to miss your chance—"

"Hermione and I are engaged," Ron interrupted. "Last night."

"He asked me by the tree," Hermione said, a flush creeping up her neck. "Down on one knee and everything. It was very romantic."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and his mouth dropped open. A little voice in the back of his mind told him he shouldn't be surprised, but at the moment, that was the only emotion he could register.

"Don't tell Mum though, alright?" Ron said. "We haven't told anyone yet. I think we're going to wait until graduation, yeah?"

Hermione nodded. "We're young enough that people are going to talk; being out of school will at least give us a little more legitimacy."

"Right," Harry said vaguely. Then, as it really sunk in, he got up and hugged both his friends. "Congratulations," he said. "Really. It's brilliant, I couldn't be happier for you."

Hermione beamed and Ron shuffled his feet awkwardly. "That's enough of that," she said, collecting herself. "Draco, go on, open your gifts."

Harry could have sworn there was something under his usual façade of disdain and only the mildest of interest, but he couldn't read it, and he didn't think now was the time to push it. Hermione gave him a container of vanilla scented hair gel, causing him to bite back a smile of amusement, and a book of modern Muggle poetry from Ron. He looked up in confusion. "What—?"

"Harry mentioned you like poetry," Ron said awkwardly. "And well, I dunno, I thought you might like it."

Draco flipped through the book. "Thanks," he said, a little tensely but, Harry thought, still genuinely.

"Yours next," Harry said.

Ron chose to go next and was delighted by the ancient chess piece from Draco, as well as the Sneakoscope. He set it down on the floor, eager to hear Old French curses, but apparently nobody was being deceitful, and his face fell as it continued to just sit there.

"We'll have to take it around the house," he said. "I'm sure _someone _is concealing _something somewhere_ around here."

"Try Fleur," Harry suggested. "Just put her and Dray in a room together, the thing is bound to go off."

"And get me killed," Draco muttered. "I'd appreciate you find a less dangerous method of testing."

Hermione was the last to go, and she was delighted by the books. Ron had to physically remove them from her hands to prevent her from spending the rest of the evening reading and muttering under her breath in French. He flew them over to her trunk and set them down carefully, assuring her she had the rest of break to read.

"Chess?" Ron asked. "I've been stuck playing Hermione—I mean, I've been playing Hermione, which is really great, but—"

"But you could use a challenge?" Draco asked, not under the same obligation as Ron to be polite to her. "Alright then. Get out your set."

Ron had to summon it and Hermione conjured a levitating table as there was no floor space whatsoever. Ron replaced his king with the one Draco had given him and they set off. The ancient piece, it turned out, was loathe to be put back to use and yelled French curses whenever it was ordered about. Eventually he had to switch it out for the King that came with his set, putting the one Draco got him on the windowsill as decoration. Harry and Hermione looked on with minimal interest but, as far as Harry was concerned, this break was one of the highlights of his day. Having nothing required of him and not causing any further pandemonium was a gift in and of itself. Ron still won the game, though Harry noted the margin of his wins was slowly decreasing.

"Fancy a fly, then?" Ron suggested, putting his chess set away at the look of boredom Hermione gave him. "We've got some old brooms you could borrow. I think there's still a Cleansweep 7 around here somewhere…"

"A _Cleansweep_?" Draco burst out. "You expect me to fly on one of _those_? I'll have you know, Harry and I—"

"Have perfectly good Firebolts," Harry interrupted. Ron had always been jealous of his brooms, and he didn't want to make it worse. "But they're in Switzerland so yeah, we'll use whatever you've got."

Flying, it turned out, was actually a good idea, despite Draco's constant stream of swears as his broom shuddered and jolted beneath him. They gathered George, Ginny and Charlie and set about playing a makeshift game of Quidditch, tossing the balls through imaginary goal posts. At one point George attempted to use a gnome as a bludger, but that practice was quickly outlawed by Hermione, who had to stop and clean out the bite she had gotten. When Mrs. Weasley called them in for dinner they were all in high spirits, Draco included. Harry had kept an eye on his arm throughout the game and saw nothing wrong with it, which settled that worry. No doubt he'd complain for days, but at least there wasn't any real injury.

Through Mrs. Weasley's more-than-obvious meddling, Draco was seated as far as possible from Bill and Fleur, as well as Hermione's Muggle parents. This resulted in Ron, Hermione and Harry forming a sort of bubble around him, and though he was in a good enough mood to participate in normal conversation, he only once strayed outside of their group, getting into an argument with George over the outcome of a hundred year old Quidditch game Harry had never heard of. The food was delicious, as always, and Mrs. Weasley served an assortment of Christmas treats for dessert, first waving her wand over them and throwing out a pile of cookies that started to glow blue beneath her wand. She went off on George, yelling at him for destroying perfectly good food, though he insisted they weren't destroyed, just improved. Eggnog was served along with dessert with an optional addition of rum, which, on a whim, Harry decided to partake in. He wasn't one to drink very often, but it was Christmas, and his day had been far from easy and, really, why not? Draco, Ron and Hermione also added the alcohol, Draco promising he wouldn't make out with Hermione no matter how drunk he got. All three of them kicked him for that, and he protested that he thought he was being _nice _and a _good friend_ by announcing his intentions.

The four friends were on their second rather large mug of eggnog when they decided, with some encouragement from the Weasley parents, to go back up to Ron's room if they were going to be that noisy. Harry found the stairs to be a bit of an adventure, but they all arrived without any incident. Hermione was undoubtedly affected the most; she was the least used to alcohol as well as the smallest, and she was very red and very silly. Draco and Ron decided to play a second game of chess, though it ended abruptly when Harry announced he had to go to the bathroom and stood up, knocking the pieces everywhere. By the time he returned Draco and Ron had yelled themselves out, and Harry collapsed onto the couch, snuggling into Draco's arms, happier than he had been in ages. He knew it was partially the alcohol, but they had never all gotten along so well, and he was reveling in the camaraderie.

Eventually, though, Ron gave Hermione a small kiss, which turned into another, and another, and then Harry decided he and Draco really ought to leave before they saw more than they wanted to.

"Can you apparate us like this?" Harry asked, taking a firm hold on his arm.

Draco waved a hand. "Yeah, sure, no problem." He paused. "We're going to Zermatt, right?"

"Y'know, I think maybe we should sleep this off," Harry said hesitantly. "You—"

"I'm fine," Draco insisted. "Ron, Hermione—Weasleys all over—we bid you adieu." The familiar, unpleasant feel of apparating, and then he and Draco collapsed onto a bed, Draco already rolling on top of him.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered.

Any further conversation was lost in a flurry of lips, hands and the sort of unintelligible noises that came from one thing and one thing only.


	51. Chapter 51: Zermatt, Switzerland

**A/N:** And here, my friends, we have Fluff. Nothing more and nothing less. Just fluff. Enjoy your fluff :)

**Chapter Fifty-One:**

_**Zermatt, Switzerland**_

Harry found he liked drunken sex; it was messy and silly, and even if Draco came too quickly and it took him longer than usual, it was still a lot of fun. What was less fun was waking up to a blindingly bright room by an insistent knocking that seemed to reverberate through his head. Draco moaned, and even that cut through his head like a shard of glass.

"Another five minutes," Draco grumbled.

The door creaked open. "It is Bluey, Master Malfoy, and Madam Malfoy said you are required to appear for lunch," a house elf squeaked. Harry clamped his pillow over his head; if he thought Draco's voice painful, it was nothing compared to the high pitch of the elf.

"Tell her to sod off," Draco replied.

"She informed Bluey you would say that, and told Bluey to tell you that she let you sleep through breakfast and it isn't proper for a wizard to miss two meals in one day. She also told Bluey to tell you that noon is far too late to be sleeping, regardless of your hangover."

Draco groaned again. "Fine. Tell Mother we'll be down shortly."

"Yes, Master Malfoy." The door closed, and Draco rolled over so he was facing Harry. He pulled the pillow off his head and assessed him.

"You look like shit."

Harry cracked open his eyes. Draco looked the same as always, though his eyes were a little bloodshot. "You don't," Harry muttered angrily. "Prick."

"Well we better get going," Draco replied. "Sounds like Mother's already in a mood, and I'm not eager to make it worse." They rolled out of bed and got dressed, throwing on whatever was nearest. Draco led the way as they shuffled to the dining room, though that wasn't the right word at all. They were standing in an enormous suite and while yes, the corner to their left was devoted to a small dining room set, the rest of the room stretched out before them. There was a living room, a study and the kitchen, separated by differing floor levels. The walls were triangular, leading to a point where a ceiling would have been, had the walls not been exclusively skylights. Both panels were made of glass, and while Harry wanted to admire the view, all he could do was squint in discomfort.

"Good afternoon, boys," Mrs. Malfoy said congenially. "Come; I have prepared lunch, and it's getting cold."

Harry slid into a chair and looked blearily at the plate. A Panini sat before him. Even the smell was enough to turn his stomach. He glanced at Draco, who had a similar expression.

"How was your time at the Weasleys?" Mrs. Malfoy asked lightly, cutting her sandwich into bite-sized pieces. "Did you enjoy yourselves?"

"Yes," Draco said shortly.

"The Burrow's always good," Harry supplied.

"You didn't cause any trouble, I hope," she said. "The Malfoys and the Weasleys do not have a favorable history. I'd expect you to be on your best behavior."

"It was fine," Draco muttered. "Only got cursed once. Granger fixed it."

"That would be the gash in your shirt?"

Draco looked down. It seemed to Harry he wasn't even aware he was wearing the same shirt. "Yeah."

"I take it your sweater was ruined as well," Mrs. Malfoy said, a bit sharply. "The sweater from your father, who spent hours fussing over what to get you."

"Bluey can mend it," Draco said. "It's just a small slash."

"Christmas dinner was good?" she asked. "I have heard Mrs. Weasley excels in the kitchen."

"Delicious," Harry said. He poked his Panini with his fork. Draco had started to eat his, taking bites so small Harry could hardly tell any was gone.

"And I can tell from how late you slept and your appearances that after that the after dinner drinks were to your satisfaction." Her voice was still light and pleasant, and Harry didn't know how to proceed.

"Eggnog," Draco said. He brought a hand up to his mouth, and Harry thought even the mention of the drink was enough to make his stomach turn.

"Such imbibing is only traditional on the holidays," Mrs. Malfoy said, "and I would let it go entirely were it not for two facts, Draco Lucius. First, you know well enough not to apparate when you're intoxicated. Remember the Halloween incident?" Draco winced. "It was very irresponsible of you to put not only yourself at risk but Harry as well. And perhaps less important but certainly more unpleasant, you failed to renew the silencing charms on your room. I do not wish to be woken up in the middle of the night to the sounds of my son and his boyfriend."

Harry and Draco blushed furiously. Harry kept his eyes on his Panini. He supposed it was inevitable that someone would _eventually_ walk in on them, or hear something, but he was absolutely mortified that it had been Mrs. Malfoy.

"I apologize," Draco said. "Rest assured, it will not happen again."

"I should hope not." She eyed the two boys carefully. "It had been my intention to let your hangover suffice as punishment, but seeing as it is Harry's first day here and he can't even look out the windows, I think perhaps a cure is in order. Harry, this is our most prized estate, and I do not wish for you to associate it with such an unpleasant experience.

"However: if you find yourself in this situation again, know that I will not be so understanding."

Harry and Draco muttered thank yous as she apparated a clear, crystal decanter over, filled with a viscous blue liquid. She filled two small glasses, and set one in front of each of them.

"This is awful, just down it as fast as you can," Draco said. Wincing, he pinched his nose and threw his head back as he swallowed. Still, he started coughing, and Harry was not eager to experience it himself. However, a moment later the redness in his eyes cleared, he sat up straighter, expression brighter, and set to work eating his Panini properly.

Harry braced himself and downed the liquid. He coughed as well; it wasn't that it tasted bad, though it did. It was the texture—oozy and thick and as if tentacles were sliding down his throat. It settled unpleasantly in his stomach, and Harry thought he was going to throw up. Then he felt his body absorb it, felt the potion seep out through the walls of his stomach and work its way through his body. Suddenly his headache was gone, his stomach settled and the fog around his brain was gone. He found himself to be ravenously hungry and dug into his food, thanking Mrs. Malfoy again, mouth full of sandwich.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Harry," she said sternly. "Though Draco, you could take a page from his book, and thank me again. You know full well I did not have to treat you so kindly."

Draco swallowed his bite. "Thank you, Mother."

The rest of lunch was much better. Harry spent most of it staring out the windows, boggling at the view. On one side the snow covered landscape dropped away, giving him a view of the tiny village far below. Past it, mountains rose into the air, peaks jutting majestically into the sky. The other window showed a vast expanse of lawn as well as what Harry thought was a stable, though there wasn't a clear path to it. Behind it a wall of snow rose far higher than he could see, snowing nothing but the whiteness of snow and the glimmer of ice. The property must have been magically carved into the mountainside; there was no way Muggles could get up here, and he would have been very surprised if such a perfectly flat ledge formed naturally.

After lunch Draco took him on a tour of the chalet. It was considerably smaller than their other properties, and much more modern. Sleek lines, light wood and sloping ceilings dominated the house. Draco showed him his room again, now that he was in a state to appreciate it. The windows offered a new view; the wall of snow cut off abruptly, revealing a mountain range behind it. Harry could imagine spending days flying over the peaks, exploring the never ending Alps.

The tour took them outside, so they need to bundle up. Draco changed into clothes that weren't ripped, summoning Bluey and telling her to repair the sweater. She nodded, and cracked away. He wrapped himself in his new cloak, smiling smugly as Harry put on his regular, black cloak, and an extra sweater for good measure. Draco transformed his loafers into boots and off they went, first over to the ledge, taking in the picture-perfect Muggle village below, then around back and to the stables. Draco introduced Harry to the horses: Allie, a silvery grey horse with an impressive wingspan, causing a small storm of hay to surround her when she flexed them; and Mella, Mrs. Malfoy's horse. She was an Aethonan and a beautiful chestnut color. She whinnied appreciatively when Harry fed her a sugar cube.

"Shall we go for a fly?" Draco asked. "I know we've got our new brooms, but I haven't had a chance to take Allie out since the summer, and she's just desperate to fly. The Alps are her favorite; Mella is cautious of the temperature, but Allie loves it."

"Sure," Harry replied. He was a little nervous, remembering how slippery and difficult it had been to ride Buckbeak, but he trusted Draco, who was clearly very excited. Draco stepped into the stall, crooning and stroking her mane before attaching a bit and harness and leading her outside.

"I prefer to ride bareback, I hope that's alright," Draco said. "And Allie positively _despises_ a saddle; she hardly puts up with the reins at all." The horse tossed her head at this, as if she understood. "Usually I take her out without them, but I thought you might find it comforting."

"Yeah, it's fine," Harry said, having no idea whether it was or wasn't.

"Perfect. Allie, down." The horse knelt and Draco easily climbed up. He offered a hand to Harry, who awkwardly scrambled onto her back, unbalancing himself and nearly falling off the other side. "Hold on to me," Draco instructed. "We're going to be going very fast." Harry did as he was instructed, gripping Draco's hips. "_Up!_" Draco cried, and they were off. They galloped ten or fifteen yards and then Allie unfurled her wings, easily pushing Harry's legs out of the way and almost causing him to fall again. He wrapped his hands firmly around Draco's chest as they took off, careening up into the sky. Draco quickly flew behind the mountain, blocking them from any Muggles who happened to look up at the wrong moment.

The experience was as terrifying as it was amazing. Allie was extremely fast, very strong and had a sort of connection with Draco that Harry was a little jealous of. Once they were established Draco let go of the reins entirely, guiding her with a squeeze of his legs, holding on to her shoulders. They flew past mountain peaks, dipped into valleys, and accidentally surprised a pair of Muggle hikers as they descended through the mountains. Draco whipped out his wand and uttered a quick _Obliviate_ as they shot back up into the sky, safely hidden in the mountains. Draco said something and Harry was about to tell him he hadn't heard it when Allie immediately responded, changing direction and once again lowering their altitude. Obviously the words had been meant for the horse, not for him.

They landed in a valley that seemed no different from any other. Draco slid off Allie gracefully while Harry slammed into him, staying upright only due to Draco's grip. He noticed he was shivering, and probably had been for a while. Draco looked comfy and warm in the silver cloak, and Harry cursed himself for not having bought one for himself as well.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"A valley I found a few years ago. Seems it's been snowing a lot; the pond is completely covered. Just a minute." Draco took out his wand and waved it in a graceful circle. A perfect circle of snow flew off an iced over pond, and Harry looked at it apprehensively.

"We're not going swimming, are we?"

Draco laughed, the sound echoing in the mountains. "No, of course not. Skating, love." He took Harry's hand and led him over to the pond and onto the ice. Harry slipped immediately, falling hard onto his arse, and Draco laughed again. "Oh, come on. Those boots are treaded, you have no excuse for such clumsiness."

Harry grumbled as he picked himself up. They slid around the pond for a few minutes, Harry getting his bearings, managing to continue to stand even as Draco twirled them around. Then he took out his wand again, pointed it at his own shoes and said, "_Laminum._" Identical silver blades descended from the soles of his shoes, pushing him up a few inches. "You do know how to skate, right?"

"No," Harry said. "No, not at all. Please don't—" But it was too late; the spell had been cast, and Harry waved his arms wildly, calming only when Draco took a firm hold on his shoulders.

"It's easy," Draco said. "Look. Just push off and glide. Push and glide, that's it. Angle your feet in to stop. Watch me." He let go of Harry, who barely managed to not fall, and watched as Draco skated in a circle around him. "See? There's nothing to it."

Very, very tentatively, Harry slid one foot forward. He didn't immediately fall, and was very proud of himself. He tried it again and, after a brief battle with gravity, remained on his feet. He broke into a smile. "Dray, look! I didn't fall!"

Draco laughed. "I told you!" He took Harry's hand and they skated in slow circles around the edge of the pond. Harry did fall, twice, but Draco showed him how to get back up, and by the time the sun started to set, Harry felt he had gotten the hang of it.

"We should get back," Draco said, looking at the sky. "The sun sets so early here, and the temperature with it. Allie!" The horse walked over to them and bent, allowing them to climb on. Draco turned their shoes back to normal before mounting and a moment later they were back in the air. Harry pressed himself against Draco; it was already starting to get colder, and he didn't have a brand new cloak to keep him warm. Luckily the ride back was short, and soon they were inside, sitting in front of a roaring fire in the main room.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to do some homework?" Harry asked. Draco was reclining in his arms, and he groaned.

"How did I know you were going to say that?" he muttered. "I suppose. We've got a couple hours until dinner, and I certainly don't want to study on a full stomach." He summoned their homework, climbed off Harry's lap and set to work. Harry had made good progress in France, finishing Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, and half of Charms, leaving him with only the rest of Charms, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology. Draco promised they could do the potions essay together, as well as the required potion, so Harry skipped over that and set to work completing the Charms essay; three rolls on the uses of levitation in battle. Tedious yes, but not particularly difficult, especially when compared to Draco's number charts. Harry had no idea what was going on, but Draco was muttering angrily and moving numbers from one box to another, continually consulting his textbook. Harry returned his eyes to his own work; if he could help that would be one thing, but just watching Draco struggle helped neither of them.

The rest of the week preceded much the same way: days spent exploring the mountains on either Allie or their new brooms, going for a steam in the sauna, playing the odd game of chess and—with enough silencing charms to block out an entire marching band—shagging. Unlike in France they were limited to Draco's room and the sauna, though a single failed attempt squashed that idea. The air was thick enough that breathing too heavily rendered them lightheaded and dizzy, making for a very unromantic encounter. They ventured down to Zermatt only twice, once just the two of them wandering through the village, the second time with Mrs. Malfoy for a proper German dinner.

New Year's Eve was a quiet affair, even with the new millennium dawning. They had champagne and stayed up until midnight, toasting in the New Year. Harry and Draco exchanged the traditional kiss, stopping only when Mrs. Malfoy cleared her throat; apparently the champagne had already affected them. Mrs. Malfoy went to bed shortly after midnight while Harry and Draco stayed up half the night talking about graduation and plans for after. The advent of a new year encouraged such talk, and even though the conversation made Harry's stomach fluttery, and his head was a bit fuzzy from the champagne, he didn't stop it.

"Have you conceded to Knightsbridge yet?" Draco asked, leaning back against the couch and stretching his legs. "Everyone who's anyone lives there. I imagine it will be hell to find an open flat, but I'm sure we can manage."

"I suppose," Harry replied. The thought still made him uncomfortable, but he didn't think any amount of arguing would change Draco's mind.

"And my bed from home," Draco added. "I shan't leave without it."

"Yes, I know," Harry said. "But the rest we furnish together, right?"

"Yeah, course," Draco said. Such informal language did indeed mean the alcohol had gone to his head. "I promise to allow furniture that isn't antique to pass through the doors as long as I have my bed and chaise." He paused. "And as long as the whole place isn't a recreation of Gryffindor common room. There's got to be _some_ taste, and I won't have everything a blaring scarlet. It'll look as if the flat is on fire."

Harry laughed. "I promise. Like I said, we'll go shopping together."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Lots of windows," he said. "I love windows. Never again shall I reside in a dungeon. Honestly, just because we're Slytherins, we have to live in a _dungeon_? Whose idea of fair was that? You've got a bloody tower, for Merlin's sake."

Harry smiled. "No, not a dungeon, and plenty of windows."

"And a house elf," Draco added.

Harry hesitated. He knew this would come up eventually but he still hadn't decided on a course of action. Hermione would disown him if they had one, never mind the extra space they'd need. "No," he replied slowly. "Not a house elf. I want a one bedroom, just for us. I don't fancy the idea of an elf walking in on us."

"Nonsense," Draco replied. "We'll train it better than that."

"Still, no," Harry said, starting to sound firm. "It's just going to be a flat, Draco. We can handle the cleaning and cooking ourselves."

Draco looked at him pitifully. "_You _can handle that."

"You clean all the time anyway," Harry said. "Your obsessive need for neatness is enough to keep it from becoming a sty. And I learned to cook for myself over the summer, even if it was mostly just pasta. We'll be fine."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "If I agree to this—_if_—you will be responsible for all meals, all dishes and all household maintenance. I may keep my space free of clutter, but I'm not about to sweep."

"I got that book from Hermione, remember?" Harry said. "It'll be fine."

Draco sighed hugely. "Alright, I'll try it. _Try_. We shall reassess later on."

That was as good an answer as Harry was going to get, and he considered himself lucky to have it at all. "Floo network?" he asked.

"Of course," Draco replied. "We'll have protection spells on it naturally, but you've got to get to work, and we need a way to have friends over. Lots of bookshelves, too. I love books."

The sudden change in topic threw Harry. Neither of them were thinking particularly linearly. "Yeah," he agreed. "And comfy couches. You can have your chaise all you want, but I need a good squish when I sit."

Draco laughed at his word choice. "Fine then. All the squish your heart desires."

They stayed silent for a few minutes and Harry let his mind wander. He thought back to Christmas, to when Ron and Hermione had announced their engagement. Draco had seemed—something. "Dray?"

"Mm?"

"What was that look, when Ron said they were engaged?"

Harry felt Draco's muscles tighten. "I had no look," he said. "Or if I did, it was merely of surprise and disdain."

"No," Harry pressed. "It wasn't that, I know that look. It was something different."

"Perhaps, probably not. I had just been cursed moments after leaving Azkaban—without you, I might add, because you got yourself locked up. I'm sure I had a lot of looks."

Harry's stomach was fluttering again, and he couldn't stop himself from continuing. "Draco, come on. What was it?"

"Nothing!" he snapped. "I told you! Leave it alone, would you? I don't go around questioning every twitch of your mouth, every time you move an eyebrow. Looks are just looks, that's all."

Harry paused for a moment. "Were you jealous?"

Draco jerked, nearly spilling champagne. "No," he said firmly. "Of course not. I don't need you wearing a ring to know that you're mine."

"You're not very subtle when you've been drinking," Harry pointed out. "You were, I could see it all over your face."

Draco sighed hugely. "Alright fine, maybe I do intend to marry one day. So? It's not like that's a novel concept. Loads of wizards get married. Most, in fact. All the time."

Harry swished his champagne, watching the bubbles circle the inside of the glass. How far did he intend to go with this? He knew he should leave it alone, that they shouldn't be speaking of such things when they had been drinking. It wasn't that he wanted a proposal, not at all. They'd only been dating since September, had only stopped hating each other a few weeks before that. But—but maybe he wanted something, some sort of—of something, he couldn't think of what.

"Harry," Draco groaned. "Come on. Stop pouting. What's wrong?"

That would be the question, and he still didn't have an answer. "I dunno," he mumbled, taking a sip of the sparkly liquid, feeling how even just one sip was enough to make his ears tingly. "I really don't. Never mind."

"Do you want me to tell you that I'll love you forever?" Draco asked, still looking at Harry, who kept his eyes on his glass. "That I'm never going to let you go, no matter who's got what ring? Cause I think I've told you that before, if not in such blatant terms."

Harry flushed and his stomach flipped pleasantly. "I love you, too," he said quietly. "I—I've had less time to think about this than you. I dunno about forever." He saw, out of the corner of his eye, the hurt on Draco's face. "I certainly can't imagine not. It's just—the thought of committing to someone forever, how are you supposed to know? What if something happens?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Harry said defensively. "Something. Or nothing, and the rest is a fairy tale ending. Are you just supposed to guess? Or consult a prophecy?"

"You just…just know," Draco said quietly. "When you know, you know."

Harry felt like his head was about to burst, and a warm fire was burning in his stomach. "We don't have to—to do this now, do we?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Get married now? I should think not. If nothing else we're in the middle of the Alps, the nearest wizarding village several countries away. But even if we were standing at the Ministry right now, no, of course not. Weasley and Granger are getting ahead of themselves. We've not even graduated yet, we're only eighteen, there's no reason to rush ahead. We've got plenty of time." He paused. "And I think my father could do with some time getting used to having you around, once he's out and it's in his face, rather than a thought in the background."

"And the coin your mum gave me," Harry continued. "That's not—it's just—"

"It doesn't bind you to me, no," Draco said. "It's a token that you are loved and accepted by our family. All of us, not just me. Trust me, Harry, you'll know when I propose. You won't have to guess at my intentions."

Harry flushed. The certainty with which Draco spoke—not if, but when—it set his stomach alight, twisting and turning and burning. It felt good, he realized. Really, really good. "Right," he replied, in a bit of a daze. "Okay then."

"Okay," Draco echoed. He settled back against the couch again, closing his eyes. A comfortable silence spun out, and Harry couldn't get his stomach to calm, the blood pounding through his veins to slow, or the low heat pooling in his groin to go away. "You will say yes though, right?" Draco asked suddenly. "Later on, I mean?"

"Yeah." The word slipped out before Harry had any chance to think it over. He blushed furiously. "Just not now."

"No, not now." Draco yawned, and he set his glass down. "Shall we retire to bed?"

"Or," Harry suggested, feeling bold and a little naughty, heady from the champagne and Draco's words. "We could take advantage of having the living room to ourselves."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Have you got something particular in mind?"

Harry took Draco's hand and set it on his rapidly hardening cock. Draco sighed. "Feel like taking care of this?" Harry asked.

Draco slid off the couch onto his knees and crawled between Harry's legs. "I always do."

Saturday morning was very exciting; they woke up early, despite how late they had stayed up, and took Allie out for one last fly before she and Mella returned to the Manor. A final time ice-skating, the last sit in the sauna, and another trip out flying, on their Silverlights this time. They'd be able fly them at school, of course, but Scotland hardly compared to the Swiss Alps.

After lunch they were regaled to finishing their homework and packing, both of which took a long time and were immensely boring. Capry and Brian had flown back to Hogwarts from Malfoy Manor on Christmas so they didn't have to worry about the birds, but it seemed everything else they had was strewn about the chalet with no rhyme or reason. Harry even found one of the socks Mr. Malfoy had given him under the couch after nearly an hour of searching, checking there only as a last-ditch effort.

Mrs. Malfoy had truly outdone herself for their final dinner. The food was rich and warm and delicious, and Harry was sure he would fall asleep immediately afterwards. That, of course, was not the case, not with Draco in his bed. They ended up not falling asleep until the wee hours of the morning, which did not bode well for an easy return to Hogwarts. Not only were they leaving such a beautiful and peaceful place and going back to the crowded noisiness of the castle, but they'd both be short on sleep and prone to snappiness.

Harry was half right about that; Draco was snappier than usual, but Harry certainly wasn't. He felt lethargic and unwell, blaming it on the short sleep and the intense desire to stay exactly where they were. He skipped most of breakfast, only nibbling on a slice of toast, and let Draco take care of the last-minute packing. Not only did that allow Draco to be as obsessive as he saw fit, but it let Harry take a short nap before they left.

He woke up feeling even worse; now his stomach was churning unpleasantly and he had developed a nasty headache. When he hesitated apparating back to Hogsmeade Draco merely rolled his eyes.

"I know you don't like it, Harry, but really, you've got to get used to it. We'll say goodbye to Mother first, but then we really must go."

The goodbyes took longer than Harry expected. Mrs. Malfoy fussed over them, making sure they had everything, hugging them both at least three or four times, each time jostling Harry's stomach unpleasantly. She left first, stating it was the only way she could let them go, and Harry followed Draco back to his room. He shrunk the suitcases, put them in his pocket, and held out his arm.

"Ready?"

"Dray, I really don't think this is a good idea," Harry said. "I feel awful."

"We can't just stay here forever," Draco snapped. "We've got to go back eventually, and it might as well be early enough we have time to unpack before the feast. Come on, just take my arm, would you?"

Harry did, knowing the second his feet left the floor that it had been a bad idea.


	52. Chapter 52: All Aboard the Staircase of

**A/N: **Happy Halloween! Or Samhain! Or, if you're like me, kudos for spending the night in your room with the lights off so trick-or-treaters will leave you alone!

I'm staggered by the number of reviews for the last chapter! Clearly I need more cliffhangers. Thankfully there are a bajillion in March (sorry, guys, you're going to hate me, but it'll be worth it in the end, I promise). And, just a heads up because a few have asked, no mpreg here. Not my speed.

**A note on the canon:** I don't specifically remember if anyone in the books had Harry's particular ailment, but I do remember Ron's slug incident, and how there wasn't anything that could be done about that. I used that as a leaping-off point. If canon contradicts me, I beg your apology.

And to those of you I owe emails to (*coughemilycough*): I haven't forgotten. I've just had a reeeeally crazy couple of days. Today is recover phase. Tomorrow is more craziness. Then sleep forever. But I haven't forgotten about you.

One more note: Five reviews away from five hundred. Next I write to you, it should be over. Aaaa!

**Chapter Fifty-Two:**

_**All Aboard the Staircase of Monumental Inclarity**_

Harry threw up the second they landed in Hogsmeade. Draco kept a hand on his shoulder but seemed more annoyed than comforting; clearly he thought the sick was due to apparating, and nothing more. Harry was much less convinced; even while he was emptying himself of lunch, he could tell he was sick. The tiredness and headache from earlier combined with the throwing up and the way he started shaking all added up to a stomach flu. Harry collapsed on a nearby bench, holding his head between his legs and trying to stop his hands from shaking.

"Harry, come on, let's go," Draco said. "I know you don't like apparating, and while I'm very sorry you threw up, it's freezing and I want to get inside."

Freezing? What was Draco talking about? Even though Harry couldn't stop shaking he was much too warm, and he was sweating profusely. He held a hand up to his forehead and could have sworn he felt heat.

"I'm sick," Harry said. "It's not apparating, I'm actually sick. I told you I didn't feel good this morning."

Draco sat next to him and felt his forehead. "Merlin, Harry, you're burning up. Can you make it to Hogwarts, or do you want to wait here while I go get Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry moaned. He didn't want either of those things; he really didn't want to walk all the way back to the castle, but he didn't think there was much Madam Pomfrey could do beyond walking next to him. A stomach flu didn't warrant a levitating stretcher, and he didn't see any other alternative.

"We can walk," Harry said unconvincingly. He was about to stand when Ron and Hermione apparated in front of them, both looking flushed and upset.

"You won't believe the morning we had," Ron said, sitting on the bench next to Harry. "My mum—"

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione interrupted. "You look awful."

He gestured at his sick. "Stomach flu."

Ron had the brilliant idea of patting him on the back, and Harry had to turn around very quickly to avoid throwing up on his shoes. Draco stroked his back gently until he was done, and as soon as he could, Harry hit Ron.

"I tell you I have a _stomach flu_ and you fucking _jostle me_?" Harry snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sorry," Ron said, chastised. "I didn't think."

"Clearly," Harry said.

"Have you sent for Madam Pomfrey yet?" Hermione asked.

"What's the point?" Harry asked mournfully. "What's she going to do, apparate me to the hospital wing? Where she'll, what? Tell me to lie down and drink plenty of fluids? I just want to get back to our room."

"Hospital wing," Hermione said firmly. "I'll go ahead and fetch her; Ron, stay and entertain Harry."

"Or I could come with you, and not get his germs all over me," Ron said. "Malfoy can stay with him; one can only assume all _they've_ shared."

"Or you could always ask me," Harry said sarcastically. "I've got the flu, I'm not an idiot."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, admonished. "What do you want?"

"I want to hear about your morning," Harry said firmly. "I already know about mine, and it wasn't very exciting."

"Right then. I'll be back soon." Hermione quickly walked down the path to Hogwarts, leaving Ron to stew in Harry's germs.

Ron sighed melodramatically. "Alright, fine. It's not a very long story though; at least it isn't anymore. Mum certainly yelled for hours, but you don't need a play-by-play of that."

"Start at the beginning," Harry said. He put his head back between his legs. It didn't really help with the nausea, but he had always been told it would, and he didn't have anything better to do.

"Well, I thought it might be nice to give Hermione my great-grandmother's ring. Y'know, romantic and all," Ron said. "I snuck into my parents' room and started going through my mum's jewelry box, which was fine, at first. Only as soon as I touched the ring it started screaming. Not a Caterwauling Charm; no, nothing so simple. Instead of simply yelling, it said, 'Ron Weasley is engaged! Ron Weasley is engaged!' over and over again. My mum burst into the room and, well, y'know. The yelling. And lecturing. And even more yelling, for trying to steal the ring."

Harry laughed a little; any more would have caused another bout of vomiting, and he was not keen on that.

"Hermione got off easy; Mum didn't blame her for stealing the ring, and she knows how level-headed 'Mione is. Mum figured she knew what she was getting into. Me, not so much." Ron sighed. "Why does everyone always think me so dull?"

"Well—" Draco started. Harry hit him in the shin, the only part of him he could reach.

"Don't you dare answer that," Harry said.

"That's about it," Ron said. "We barely got packed in time, and then Mum yelled at us for that. George thought the whole thing hilarious, Ginny declared it romantic, Bill and Fleur gave us another lecture on married life, and Charlie congratulated us. Oh, and Dad, he was torn between excitement and backing up Mum. Hermione's parents seemed in a kind of daze; I imagine she'll be getting a letter from them in a few days, once it's sunk in."

"I'm afraid our vacation wasn't nearly as eventful," Draco said. "Relaxing in sunny France, relaxing in snowy Switzerland, relaxing at the Manor." He paused. "Mostly. Harry had a nightmare, but that was it. And Azkaban was hardly welcoming, but seeing Father was excellent."

That was the most personal information Harry had ever heard Draco offer up to anyone other than him, especially Ron. He was impressed. And then he threw up again, and it felt like it lasted forever, petering out into dry heaves he couldn't stop. Draco continued to rub his back, which, while comforting, did nothing to settle his stomach, and Harry found himself feeling particularly irritable towards Draco. _He _wasn't throwing up; what right did he have to decide what was comforting or not? But, once he stopped heaving, Harry realized how ridiculous that was, and again took comfort in Draco's hand.

"I hear we've got the first case of the flu," a familiar voice said. Harry looked up and saw Madam Pomfrey standing before him. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter, you've managed to set a new record; you're not even inside yet, and already you're sick. Come on, then, let's get you to the infirmary."

"I have to walk, don't I?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid so," she replied. "Up you go."

Harry stood shakily, leaning heavily on Draco. He had never had such a miserable walk to Hogwarts before; he thought he might start throwing up again any minute, his head was pounding, he was shaking and whatever warmth he had felt was gone, replaced with a clammy coldness. Hermione thought talking might help and chatted the whole walk, nearly driving Harry crazy. Eventually his patience broke and he exploded her, yelling that she was making his headache even worse with that fucking _shrill_ voice, and she quieted immediately. Harry apologized a second later, saying that his head was fuzzy and he didn't mean it, and she accepted readily.

The infirmary was an incredibly welcome sight. He curled up on a bed, and immediately he felt at least a little better. His temperature was taken and he was declared officially sick at 102.3. Harry almost didn't hear; he was nearly asleep again, noticing only when Madam Pomfrey covered him in a warm blanket. It vaguely registered when Ron and Hermione left, telling him that they wanted to let him rest. Draco sat on a chair next to the bed, holding his hand.

"I'm afraid there's only so much I can do," Madam Pomfrey said. "If you had a cold, or a regular flu I could fix that right up, but wizarding magic hasn't caught up with the stomach yet, Merlin knows why. Still, I'm not sending you home empty handed. This," she said, wisely handing the bottle to Draco, "is for his fever. He'll feel cold, but that's better than letting the fever rage. This one is for his headache; it might not cure it completely, but it will help." She turned back to Harry. :Beyond that, sleep as much as you can, and make sure to stay hydrated."

"Yeah," Harry said. His eyes were closed and once more, he was almost asleep.

"Not here, Mr. Potter. Go back to your room. And tell your friends to stay away; the last thing we need is a stomach flu epidemic."

"Okay," Harry said. He stood and let Draco guide him back to their room. The sphinx was annoyed to be returned to duty after its own vacation, but when it saw how sick Harry looked, it let them in without another word. Harry lay down on the couch, not having the energy to make it to the bedroom. Draco measured out doses of the medicine and gave them to Harry, who was too tired to focus on how unpleasant they tasted. Draco disappeared for a minute, then returned with all the blankets from their bed. Harry had already started to shake from the fever medication, and the blankets did little to warm him. Draco lit an extra warm fire and conjured a small bucket, in case of any further throwing up. Harry was almost completely asleep as Draco enlarged the couch just enough so he could join Harry under the covers; Harry registered his warmth and the unpleasant wave of nausea that accompanied the moving of the couch, and then he was asleep.

Harry spent most of the day sleeping, waking only to throw up and when Draco insisted he have some water. He was awake for a while in the early evening, when Draco woke him up by returning from dinner, and spent his time staring blankly into the fireplace. Draco offered him a book, either to read himself or to be read to, but Harry declined. Even though his headache was better, he was still fuzzy and tired and wasn't in the mood to attempt to absorb any information. Draco moved him to their bed around nine despite Harry's protests that the couch was comfy enough.

Harry woke up around four and spent an hour in the bathroom, intermittently throwing up and leaning his head against the cool tile. The fever medication had worn off but he didn't know when he could take more, and even if he was allowed, he would have just thrown it up again. Draco joined him in the bathroom the whole time, though he fell asleep on the floor after about ten minutes. Harry let him sleep, waking him only when he returned to bed.

Harry didn't wake up again until Draco woke him.

"Nn," Harry mumbled. He would have rolled over away from him, but even just the thought made his stomach churn.

"Lunch," Draco said, setting a tray on the bedside table. "Dry toast, orange juice and more medicine. I had to go down to the kitchens to get this, you know. All those goddamned house elves everywhere, and yet, I did it for you. They gave me lunch, too, so I can stay with you until class starts."

Harry hadn't made it past the first word. "Lunch?" he asked blearily. "What happened to breakfast?"

"You slept," Draco said. "Here, take your medicine."

Harry did, not having the energy to argue. The orange juice helped wash the taste out of his mouth, and the toast actually felt sort of good. He was more nauseated, but at least he didn't have that empty sucking feeling that happened when he didn't eat enough. Draco chatted lightly, telling him about what he missed in potions, which went straight over Harry's head. But it was nice to hear Draco's voice, and even with his glasses off, the white-blonde blur that was Draco was comforting. Time passed awkwardly, in stops and starts—probably because he kept drifting off—and he never exactly saw Draco leave, it just happened to be that he wasn't there anymore.

The next time he opened his eyes, Draco, Ron and Hermione were all sitting on the floor in front of him, talking quietly so they didn't wake him up. Harry made a noise to indicate that he was awake and then he was included in the conversation, by which he meant they talked to him and he attempted to listen. He got that Neville, Aurora and Luna sent their good wishes, and something about Hagrid telling him he could stop by any time to catch up on what he missed, but that was about it. Hermione brought him a stack of homework, though she told him no one was expecting him to do it until he felt better.

Ron offered to play a game of chess with Harry, which, despite knowing better, he took him up on. The board floated over the bed, Harry playing from under the covers while Ron continued to sit on the floor. The game was a little ridiculous, as Ron didn't exactly understand how to hold back and go easy on someone, and Harry's voice was so quiet and croaky that the pieces could barely hear him, and they kept going to the wrong squares on the board. This resulted in Harry nearly winning inadvertently by accidentally trapping Ron's King in a corner, but Ron, who was very upset at being beaten by someone who wasn't even in charge of their movements, rallied himself and destroyed Harry's remaining pieces. Draco was very jealous of this near-win and Harry ended up dozing as Ron and Draco played and Hermione talked to him, he thought about their classes, though he wasn't sure how potions went with London, and something she said in French. Much more helpful was when she very quickly helped Harry to the bathroom and brushed his bangs out of his face as he relieved himself of the toast and orange juice he'd had for lunch.

Harry crawled back into bed feeling awful. He found himself yearning for Mrs. Weasley, or even Mrs. Malfoy. He never would have expected the latter to be good at comforting but she was, surprisingly so, and of course Mrs. Weasley would be just about perfect in this situation. It was silly and childish, to wish for a mother-figure just because he had the flu, but somehow he was convinced that if one of them brought him a glass of water, it would be a lot more refreshing than Hermione's. She told him exactly why he needed to stay hydrated and how the process of being sick leeched water from his body and, even if he had been able to follow her words, they were not exactly comforting.

After Ron finished beating Draco—Harry didn't know by how much, he wasn't that lucid—they left for dinner. It took a lot of reassuring on Harry's end to get them to leave, talking he really would have rather not done. The quiet and the dark were a relief, but he missed the presence of his friends very much, regardless of their mothering abilities. He didn't have very much time to contemplate it before he fell asleep.

_Harry didn't know where he was. Everything was very bright and wavy and oversaturated, like he was looking through—through something that caused everything to be bright and wavy and oversaturated. He started to explore and realized he was in Hogwarts; the Great Hall to one side and the Grand Staircase in front of him. He thought, in his current state, it might be fun to try to climb the staircase._

_When he stepped onto the first stair, Sirius Black stood next to him. He wasn't wavy, but the dark red of his shirt jumped out at Harry like it was trying to attack him, and his grey eyes were like clouds. Actual clouds, Harry realized, that floated out and up and started to rain on them._

"_Hi," Harry said. "You look bright."_

"_You look unwell," Sirius replied. "How are you doing?"_

"_Good," Harry replied. "I'm seeing Draco now."_

_Sirius raised an eyebrow and it floated away. "That's good?"_

"_Yeah," Harry said. "Really good."_

"_That's good, I suppose," Sirius replied. "Keeping up your grades? Still on the Quidditch team?"_

_Harry shrugged, the movement causing him to bounce, like there wasn't enough gravity. "Grades are good. No Quidditch this year."_

_Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Stay safe."_

"_I always try."_

_Harry moved to the second step. He was greeted by Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. Remus had the head of a wolf and the body of a human, though he didn't seem threatening at all. Tonks was bright purple, from her hair to her skin to her eyes to her robes._

"_It's good to see you together," Harry said. He watched in fascination as his words floated out from his mouth and up and up and up until Harry couldn't see them anymore._

"_Always," Remus said, taking Tonks' hand._

"_How's Teddy?" she asked._

"_Good, I think," Harry said. "I haven't seen your mum since the trial, and we were a little preoccupied."_

_Tonks nodded, leaving purple trails in her wake. "I'm glad she testified."_

"_Forgiving is good," Remus said. His words were fuzzy, Harry noted. Harry wondered vaguely if he could become a werewolf from touching one of them, but they rose far before they reached him. "We're all proud of you for your capacity to forgive."_

"_Yeah?" Harry asked._

"_Especially your parents," Tonks said. "It's different, when you're dead. We've all forgiven those who killed us. It's much harder in life."_

"_They forgave Voldemort?" Harry asked. These words had sharp edges and seemed to move very slowly, hanging in front of him much longer than he wanted them to._

"_You can ask them yourself," Remus said. "They're around here, somewhere."_

"_I guess I should move on, then."_

_Harry moved to the third step. Cedric Diggory stood next to him. His yellow robes were nearly blinding, shooting off rays like the sun._

"_Hey, Harry," he said cheerfully. "How's being the Tri-Wizard Champion treating you?"_

"_I haven't thought about it much," Harry said, squinting in the light of Cedric's robes. "There's been a lot of stuff since then."_

_Cedric nodded sagely. "Yeah, I should have figured. Still cowering from that Skeeter woman?"_

"_I've stopped getting the _Prophet_," Harry said. "It's rubbish."_

"_Even more when you're in the social pages," Cedric replied. "If you haven't been reading you wouldn't know, but you and Draco are quite the talk of the town, even after all these months. There are rumors you got engaged over the break."_

_Harry shook his head. "That was Ron and Hermione," he said. "Do you miss Cho? Would you have married her?"_

_Cedric shrugged. "It's hard to tell, on this side. I do miss her, though. I miss all of you, all of this." He gestured at Hogwarts. "Don't look so sad, Harry. There's plenty of wonder and magic over here. Death is nothing to be afraid of."_

"_I know," Harry replied. "I did die, you know."_

"_Yeah, Dumbledore said."_

"_Are you all there, then?" Harry asked. "Just hanging around, talking?"_

_Cedric laughed. "Sometimes. We come and go. One day I'll be surrounded by people, the next all by myself. Day is a stupid word though; time is different, sort of like taffy and a stray Snitch all at once."_

"_It's good seeing you," Harry said._

"_Yeah, you too. See you around."_

_Harry moved to the fourth step. Bellatrix was next to him, though he could hardly recognize her. Her wild hair was tied back in a simple braid and instead of ripped and torn black dresses, she wore a simple white shift. Harry wasn't afraid, didn't even check for his wand._

"_You've changed," he said._

"_We've all changed," she replied. Her voice was clear, free of madness._

"_You look much better," Harry said, and she laughed._

"_Amazing what a little conditioner will do." She ruffled his hair. "I see my nephew has been treating you well."_

"_Yeah," Harry said. "Your sister misses you. She didn't say so, but on Christmas Eve…"_

"_Oh yes, _Stories for Christmas_." She looked nostalgic. "We haven't got Christmas here."_

"_How did you change?" Harry asked. "Are you sorry? Did you have to pay penance?"_

_She frowned lightly. "I'm not sure. I don't remember much after Molly Weasley killed me. Vague flashes of black, a voice saying…" She trailed off. "Well, it doesn't matter now."_

"_You killed your cousin," Harry said. "And so many others. I'm not sure I like you finding peace."_

_Bellatrix leaned down, staring deep into his eyes. "Can't you see?" she said. "I haven't a moment when I don't think of those I killed. But what's past is past. We all learn to forgive."_

_He looked into her eyes, still heavy lidded and black, but the spark of madness was gone. "That's what Remus and Tonks said," Harry replied. "I don't understand."_

"_You will, one day," she said, stepping back. "When you cross over."_

"_I have already," Harry said, starting to get frustrated. "I died that night. You were there, you saw."_

"_You pitied the Dark Lord," she said. "In King's Cross. In that moment, in your cross-station, you started to forgive him."_

_Harry shook his head. "I'll never forgive him."_

_Bellatrix smiled. "You'll see."_

_Harry moved to the fifth step. Fred was next to him, red hair flaming, wearing his Weasley sweater. The F glittered in the wavy light._

"_George had a Bundt cake," Harry said. "With acid pops, on Christmas."_

_Fred laughed. "Yeah, I saw. A single cake, and he considered the tradition fulfilled. I capped out at fifteen one year; Mum nearly killed me."_

"_Do you watch us, then?" Harry asked. "From wherever you are?"_

"_Sometimes," Fred replied. "Rather, sometimes we just know things. Like I know the joke shop is still thriving, and that Ron and Hermione got engaged. I wish I could be there for their wedding; I'm sure George and I could whip up something special for them."_

"_I'm sure George will take care of it," Harry said. "The tricks live on."_

_Fred laughed again. "They always will. No matter how dire the world is, jokes will always live on."_

"_It's not so dire now," Harry said. "We won the battle. Voldemort's dead."_

"_Yeah?" Fred asked. "I see Tom Riddle every now and then, but he doesn't know anything about the fate of Voldemort. I sort of figured you won, given how the influx of the departed stopped so abruptly."_

"_I didn't know—they're that different then, Tom and Voldemort?"_

_Fred shrugged. "Never met the other half. I couldn't say."_

"_Can you still do your tricks, wherever you are?" Harry asked. "Are you still inventing?"_

_Fred grinned. "You know it. In fact, I wouldn't stay on this stair much longer if I were you."_

_Harry moved to the sixth step. Snape was next to him, looking like a vulture, as always. He kept flickering back and forth between the animal and the man, occasionally appearing as a doe._

"_I know everything," Harry said. "I saw it in the Pensieve. I'm so sorry."_

"_All that's in the past," Snape said. "As long as my memory lives on in the mind of one person, one boy, I'm content." He tapped Harry's forehead. "A man, I should say."_

"_I'll never forget the things you did for me and my family," Harry said firmly. "And for Dumbledore, and our cause. The danger you put yourself in."_

_Snape nodded. "You told Draco, I saw that. Thank you."_

"_He deserved to know," Harry said. "Everyone does, but I don't think you want that."_

"_No," Snape said. "Just a few." He grimaced. "Granger and Weasley know, don't they?"_

_Harry nodded. "It's good that they do. Really."_

"_It's hard to tell from here," Snape said. "Everything's so different. If you say it is, I suppose I must believe you."_

"_Are you friends with my mum now?" Harry asked._

_Snape smiled. "Yes. All has been forgiven."_

"_And my dad doesn't tease you anymore, does he? He and Remus and Sirius and Wormtail, they've laid off?"_

_Snape laughed. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever heard that sound before. "No. And now they've got that Weasley's tricks up their sleeves. It's all right, though. What's a few puking pastilles between friends?"_

"_Good," Harry said. "Your story, it deserved a happy ending."_

_Snape smiled again. "I'm glad you think so."_

_Harry moved to the seventh step. His parents stood before him, and he moved to hug them. His dad help up a hand._

"_I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said. "I'm not sure what touching us would do."_

"_We've already walked you through death once," Lily said. "We don't intend to do it again for many more years."_

_Harry stepped back. "I miss you," he said. "Every day. I've got a thousand questions for you, never mind the important things. It was all right not to be on the Quidditch team this year, yeah? And you don't mind that I'm dating Draco? You're proud of me for becoming an Auror?"_

"_All you have to do is look in your heart," James said. "You know the answers."_

_Harry directed his gaze inwards. He could see his heart nestled between his lungs, beating rhythmically, pumping blood throughout his body. His parents' blood. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you'll always be proud, no matter what I do."_

_Lily smiled. "Of course."_

"_Though I'm a bit jealous of that new broom of yours," James said. "We can fly here, of course, without needing a broom at all, but it's not the same."_

"_I'm jealous of it myself," Harry said. "I found the picture, you know. Of me when I was little, flying around on a toy broom Sirius got me. He doesn't mind the new one, does he? I'm so worried he'll take offense that I'm not riding his Firebolt."_

"_Harry, you're smarter than that," James said. "We all want what's best for you, what makes you happy."_

"_I was supposed to ask you something," Harry said. "If you had forgiven Voldemort for everything he did."_

_Lily's brow creased and James sighed heavily. They seemed to say yes and no at the same time, both of their voices coming out doubled._

"_We understand," Lily said._

"_But we'll never forgive him," James added. "Not completely."_

"_Bellatrix said you've got to forgive, to pass on," Harry said. "I don't understand."_

"_Some things will never be forgiven," Lily said. "Not the murder of our son."_

"_Even though it allowed me to kill him?" Harry asked._

"_It's complicated, love," Lily replied. "Don't concern yourself with it. You have a long ways to go before you need to understand."_

"_You can't tell me anything else?" Harry asked. "Anything more?"_

"_You'll find out on your own," James said. "You're very bright."_

_Harry sighed. "I suppose. I've got to move on, haven't I? I can't just stay here with you?"_

"_Not just yet," Lily said. "But we're always with you."_

_Harry sighed again. "I know."_

_Harry stepped onto the eighth stair. Dumbledore stood next to him, shimmering in and out of focus, edges blurring and reforming. Only his eyes stayed constant._

"_Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked. "That I would have to die?"_

"_There are some things that cannot be said," Dumbledore replied. "I believe James told you that."_

"_You're very frustrating," Harry said._

"_I've been told that many times," Dumbledore said. "I find most people are. Especially the clever ones, like you and I. I imagine you'll become just as frustrating as myself." He paused. "No, perhaps not. You have always been better than me."_

_Harry gaped at him. "I—I have not! You—"_

"_You can't see it," Dumbledore said. "The whole picture, the accumulation of my life next to yours. I shouldn't have said anything; it doesn't matter." He chuckled. "I always spoke too much."_

"_You—no," Harry said. "You never said anything."_

"_Yet you still managed to defeat Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "I'd say I said just the right amount."_

_Harry considered this. "Yeah," he said. "I guess you did. I really wish you had told me the truth about Snape, though. Just that, it would have changed everything."_

"_You found out when you were ready to, and not a moment sooner," Dumbledore said. "You wouldn't have believed it coming from me. In fact, I believe I told you repeatedly to trust him, and you never listened."_

_Harry flushed. "I suppose."_

"_You and Draco make quite a handsome couple," Dumbledore said. "I saw you leading the school at the Yule Ball. I couldn't be more proud of you, Harry. Only you could manage to find love and simultaneously change wizarding relations forever."_

"_I dunno about that," Harry said. "I mean, it's just us, it's not like Slytherins have changed or anything."_

"_One man has," Dumbledore said. "That's all you need, to change the mind of a single man. Everything else will follow in time."_

"_Lucius?" Harry asked._

"_Perhaps," Dumbledore replied. "I'm afraid I've said too much again. Rest assured that your actions will be noticed by all the right people."_

"_So many riddles," Harry said. "Always the riddles with you."_

"_They give you something to think about," Dumbledore replied. "I wouldn't want you getting bored, now would I?"_

"_Tom Riddle—Fred said he was there, with the rest of you. Has he changed so much? Even as a student he was starting to become Voldemort," Harry said. "Tom Riddle always had Voldemort inside him. How can he be with you?"_

"_Why don't you ask him yourself?"_

_Harry moved to the ninth step. Tom Riddle stood next to him. They were the same age, had the same black hair, though Tom was taller and had darker eyes. Still, Harry thought the similarities startling._

"_You," Harry said._

_Tom smiled. "Me."_

"_I killed you," Harry said. "I haven't got a thing to say to you."_

"_No?" Tom asked. "I'm sorry to hear that, Harry. I have a great deal to say to you. Perhaps you aren't ready yet."_

"_Why does everyone always tell me that?" Harry asked angrily. "I'm fine! I'm clever! Tell me whatever you want!"_

"_No," Tom said. "I can only tell you what you ask."_

_Harry ground his teeth in frustration. "Why me?" he asked finally. "I know the prophecy and all that, but why was I born into it? Why not someone else?"_

"_Because only you could defeat me," Tom said. "Though it wasn't me you defeated; Voldemort and I have finally separated. I'm not him anymore, just a student, like you, trying to find my path."_

"_A path that led you to kill and torture countless people," Harry said. "That made you try to destroy the world."_

"_Yes," Tom said. "Voldemort did those things. I just asked all the wrong questions, made only left turns when I should have gone right."_

"_So you don't blame yourself at all?" Harry challenged. "You think it was all happenstance and mistakes?"_

"_You'd be surprised at how much is," Tom said. "But no, I know what I did, even as far back as the orphanage. Many acts were quite intentional. I was torturing long before I became Voldemort. Yet still, I ended up here, while my other half has yet to be seen."_

"_Why?" Harry asked. "How could anyone forgive you?"_

"_I haven't a clue," Tom replied. "But here I am."_

"_You're just as bad as Dumbledore," Harry said. "You tell even less, leave even more up to interpretation and guessing."_

"_Oh yes," Tom said. "Most definitely."_

_Harry wanted to scream. "I won't forgive you," he said stubbornly. "Never. Not after what you did."_

"_I wouldn't blame you," Tom said. "If I were you, I certainly wouldn't. Just know, Harry Potter, that you make that choice. Who knows what revenge can lead to?"_

"_I'll never be like you," Harry spat. "I proved that already."_

"_No, you won't," Tom said. "But still, revenge is as volatile as I. Make your choice carefully. Know that you can always change it."_

"_I'm leaving," Harry said firmly._

"_Goodbye, then."_

_Harry moved to the tenth step. Draco stood next to him, positively glowing. Harry's heart jerked; after so much hate, the sudden onslaught of love nearly hurt._

"_What are you doing here?" Harry asked._

"_I brought you tea," Draco said, holding out a mug. "Chamomile, with honey. It'll make you feel better."_

"_But you're not dead," Harry said. A sudden fear struck him. "You're not, are you?"_

_Draco laughed. "No, of course not. I'm not even in your head. I'm sitting next to you, on the bed, holding out a cup of tea. Can't you see?"_

_The staircase shimmered, then dissolved completely_

and Harry was lying in bed next to Draco, who was holding out a cup of tea.

"Just try it," he insisted. "Mother always makes it for me when I'm sick. It will help."

Harry pushed himself into a seated position, stomach rolling at the movement. "I had a dream," he started. "There were—I don't remember. My mum was there, I think. And Cedric."

"A nightmare?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head, causing the room to tilt unpleasantly. "No. Fever dream, I guess."

Draco felt his forehead. "You're burning up. Here, drink your tea. I'm going to go see Madam Pomfrey and see if there's anything stronger than what she gave you." He kissed Harry's temple. "I'll be right back."

"Yeah, sure." He tentatively sipped the tea. It was good.


	53. Chapter 53: Valentine's Day

**A/N:** This chapter is very fluffy indeed. I am extremely happy about this because I read the saddest H/D story _ever_ last night and I need some fluff. ALL THE FLUFF.

**WARNING:** There is some mild sexual contact between two, of-age, consenting boys. If you're not interested, skip ahead to when they arrive at Hogsmeade.

**WARNING, PT. 2:** There are much more graphic sexy times in a Google Doc linked to at the bottom of the page. They are _reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally _fluffy. If there you were only going to read one sex scene in this entire story, read this one. Fluff EVERYWHERE.

Also, I know I said suspicious things about March, but I was totally lying. March is awesome. Suspicious things happen in May. Right around the second and the third of May, in fact.

**Chapter Fifty-Three:**

_**Valentine's Day**_

Harry's stomach flu lasted for a full week, which was entirely unfair. He was fairly certain this sort of thing was only supposed to last a day or two. It seemed, from Draco and Hermione's reports, that the rest of the school had caught it as well; Defense Against the Dark Arts was cancelled indefinitely due to Whisp being sick, the infirmary was overflowing, causing Slughorn to stay up all night brewing more fever and headache relievers, and Ron was laid up in bed as well, preventing both his visits and severely limiting Hermione's, as she needed to take care of him.

The rest of January wasn't much better. Even without Defense Against the Dark Arts, he had missed a week of classes, and he spent the better part of the month trying to catch up. The professors had slowed down to accommodate the epidemic, but their idea of slow was still considerably faster than he could keep up with. Harry, Ron and Aurora, who had also gotten sick, spent many late nights in the library in a desperate attempt to finish their missing homework, classroom knowledge and current homework. Hermione and Draco stopped by occasionally to help with particularly difficult concepts but, much to Harry's annoyance, they both seemed to think they had better things to do with their time. He was pretty sure Hermione was just studying in the comfort of her room rather than the plague-ridden library, but Neville had forbidden anyone who had been sick within the past two weeks to be in the common room longer than it took to get to their dorms, so studying there wasn't an option. Draco had imposed much the same rule on their living room, despite the fact that Harry lived with him and they slept in the same bed.

By the time things had slowed down it was February, and plans for Valentine's Day were floating around. The six of them decided to go to Intrépide on a sort of triple date and, though they felt bad for excluding Luna, she assured them she didn't mind. Apparently the third Monday in February was the best day to harvest dirigible plums, which she insisted would keep her occupied the entire evening. She suggested Harry do the same, but he begged out by asking if she'd like to prune his plant as well, which she agreed to readily enough.

While the professors weren't cutting classes short for the holiday they did agree to let fourth years and over go to Hogsmeade, a decision that was announced after their plans had been made, rendering Hermione nearly speechless. It seemed she had forgotten Valentine's Day wasn't on a weekend, and hadn't realized they would have needed to break the rules in order to go out. Draco made the reservations, exchanging several angry owls with the owner of the restaurant; they had been booked for months, Draco was informed, and seating another lone couple was impossible, let alone a group of six. Eventually he had to resort to asking his mum to owl them, immediately after which they had reservations for six o'clock. Harry never found out exactly what she said, and felt a bit uncomfortable at needing to call on the name of the Malfoys, but whatever had happened was successful, and he didn't complain.

On some level, Harry still expected to wake up Valentine's Day morning to a hideously decorated room and dwarves delivering Valentines, even though Lockhart had been gone for six years. Needless to say that was not the case: the Great Hall had only slightly changed, the addition of pink crepe paper draped across the ceiling hardly noticeable, there were no interruptions to their classes and, most important to Harry, no singing Valentines. Slughorn did have them brewing love potions, which left most of the class dreamy and giggly by the time they left, and Harry had an even harder time focusing in Muggle Studies than usual; he kept catching the smell of vanilla and sex, though Draco was far away in Charms. The potion had worn off by lunch, and the rest of the school day was much more manageable.

Draco disappeared after his last class, barring Harry from the bedroom as he always did when he dressed up, even though Harry knew for a fact he'd be wearing the same dress robes he had at the Yule Ball as well as his new cloak. Again, Harry wished desperately he had gotten one for himself; February was filled with a biting wind and blizzards nearly every day, and his black cloak hardly set off his green dress robes with the same grace and elegance as Draco. He spent the majority of the afternoon in the Ravenclaw common room with Luna, watching as she carefully picked dirigible plums and explaining to Harry the process she used. He was more than a little jealous that she could stay in and could remain in her usual outfit instead of needing to look _respectable_ and _appropriate_ and _fit for the occasion_. He left around five, knowing it wouldn't take an hour to get dressed and also knowing that Draco would throw a fit if he didn't feel Harry had put in enough effort.

His robes were waiting for him on the couch, neatly laid out as always. Harry dressed quickly, conjured and mirror and smoothed his hair, which didn't look too terribly awful. He had been using the yellow bottle on a regular basis, and it seemed to have a lasting effect on his hair, as well as the immediate post-shower result. This left him with a good fifty minutes to spare that he was at a loss how to fill. He would have read—January's rush of homework had rendered him unable to read the book on Aurors he had gotten for Christmas—but he thought sitting might crumple his robes, and he didn't want Draco to tell him off for being a mess. He thought briefly of practicing some of the spells from the book Hermione had given him, but the few times he had tried in the past they had blown up in his face—once literally—and again, he didn't want to subject his robes to danger. He ended up by the window, staring mournfully out at the blizzard holding Hogwarts hostage. The walk to Hogsmeade would be a cold and miserable one indeed, no doubt rendering any attempts to keep his robes nice an utter failure.

Eventually Draco emerged, looking fantastic. Harry glanced at the clock before saying anything and no, there wasn't time for a quick shag before they left. So instead of saying something naughty and suggestive, or just outright demanding that Draco strip and get on the bed, he merely said, "You look good."

Draco smirked. "I know. You do as well, though of course that's all to my credit. I picked out the robes, I figured out how to make your hair behave, I have made you presentable."

"You're such a prat, Draco," Harry said. "I was in such a good mood, and I figured there was time for a blow before we left, but I don't think I'll let you, not with that attitude."

Draco's smirk faded. "Wait, no. Harry, I'm sorry. You look spectacular, really."

"No, too late," Harry said. "Come on, we've got to meet up with everyone else and slog our way through this blizzard."

"We've got at least five minutes," Draco said. "I checked before I left our room. That's more than enough—"

"Shut up, or you won't be getting any later, either," Harry said, leading them out of their room. "And I know how much you've been looking forward to Valentine's Day sex."

Draco spent a while muttering angrily under his breath, but he calmed down by the time they reached the Front Hall. The doors were open but there was a charm ensuring no wind or snow passed inside the castle. They were open for a reason, a reason that absolutely delighted Harry. There were carriages waiting outside, drawn by pure white horses which nearly blended into the snow, carriages with canopies and, presumably, heating charms. They seemed to be built to be couple sized, but Harry reckoned the six of them could squeeze into just one.

Neville and Aurora showed up next, holding hands and looking flushed. Harry noted with some amusement that Neville's hair was mussed and his shirt wasn't exactly tucked in correctly, but he kept it to himself. Strictly speaking, it wouldn't be out of character for Neville to have not bothered to look in a mirror before leaving, though Harry thought another explanation was considerably more plausible. In any case they looked wonderful, Neville in the robes he had worn to the Yule Ball, and Aurora in the green dress she had worn on their first date. Neither of them were surprised about the carriages; apparently Neville had been told ahead of time and had told both Aurora and the rest of the Gryffindors. Harry's heart tugged a little at that, seeing as by rights he should have been there for the announcement, but he reminded himself sleeping with Draco was a fair trade for not living in the Tower.

Eventually Ron and Hermione appeared, uncharacteristically late. Apparently Ron had spilled ink on her dress and she needed to fix it, though Harry was absolutely certain that didn't account for how late they were. It seemed he and Draco were the only ones who hadn't partaken in pre-dinner activities. Maybe he should've allowed Draco that blowjob.

But it was far too late now, and the group walked outside together, immediately getting hit with gale force winds and snow hard enough to sting. As soon as Flitwick saw they were trying to jam into one carriage he started yelling at them, saying they were for two people only and they'd have to take separate ones, regardless of whether or not they had plans to meet up later. Harry and Draco climbed into the first, which was indeed heated, and they set off.

"You know," Draco said silkily, and Harry did know from his tone of voice alone. "These carriages are fairly private."

"Fairly being the important word," Harry said. "As well as quick; there's no way we have time—"

"Of course we do," Draco said. "If I didn't know how to get you off quickly by now I'd hardly be a good boyfriend, now would I?"

"Dray, no, it's too late," Harry replied, trying to sound authoritative. "Really. We'll pull up and I'll be half naked with my cock in your mouth and the whole of Hogsmeade will see."

"I am far more skilled than that, I assure you," Draco said, sliding onto his knees and between Harry's legs before he could protest any further. "We have well established my skills in the past, there's no need to go over them again." Then he was unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper and Harry moaned before he could say anything more coherent.

"Corners," he gasped. "Going around corners, people in the carriages behind us will see."

Draco shook his head, creating a delicious sensation.

"Our _friends_ will see," Harry tried, though he was starting to care less and less.

Draco shook his head again, and Harry couldn't stop the moan, no matter how important it was to keep quiet. He had no idea how far behind them the other carriages were, or how much the snow dampened any noises.

"Dray—_fuck_."

And that was the end of all protesting. Draco was utilizing every skill he had, using all of his knowledge of Harry's body, and there wasn't any way to fight it. Nor was Harry still concerned about making it to Hogsmeade in such a compromising position; there was no way he could last that long, no matter how quickly the horses went. He started to tangle his hands in Draco's hair but his hands were immediately slapped away, and he settled them on his shoulders instead, though gripping the fabric wasn't nearly as satisfying as his silky smooth, always organized hair. There was something so rewarding about messing up such perfect hair, though—_oh_—what Draco was doing now certainly had its merits, regardless of where Harry placed his hands.

"Mm, Dray." His voice came out a choked whisper, which caused Draco to double his efforts. Harry hadn't thought it could be any better but suddenly it was, and he saw stars. He jerked forward once, twice, and then Draco was swallowing and cleaning and putting him away and, with a very satisfied smile, rejoining Harry on the seat.

"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Draco asked.

"Fuck you," Harry gasped. "I still can't breathe, I look a wreck and we're almost there. Besides, I never gave you permission to do that; I think an extra ten strikes should make up for it."

Draco shivered. Harry's reservations about the paddle had faded quickly and now it was a near constant part of their lovemaking. The hand cuffs fell aside as Harry preferred to have Draco on his lap for the spankings, or, if they were in bed, to be able to quickly turn him over, so he could watch Draco's face as they had sex.

"I've got an idea as well," Draco said. "One of your gifts—oh, look, we're here. I'll tell you about it later."

Harry made an effort to grab his wrist and prevent him from leaving until he told Harry _exactly_ what that gift was, but Draco was too nimble. Harry scampered after him but, instead of demanding to know the secret, he found himself being kissed senseless, and all thoughts flew out of his head.

"Now stand still," Draco instructed, pulling away. "You _are _a wreck, I'll give you that. Actually, all of what you said was true—I did render you breathless, and I do need to be fucked. But for now I think I'll settle for making it look as though we haven't just been shagging, a courtesy our friends did not employ."

Harry stood still as Draco fussed with him, and by the time Ron and Hermione arrived, he was back to being presentable. Hermione was flushed, though Harry was certain it was from the thrill of riding in a horse-drawn carriage; despite her façade, every now and then she could get a little on the girly side. Aurora and Neville arrived not long after, and the group set out for Intrépide. Despite their last minute reservations they were seated at Draco's customary table, which was decorated with not only the usual single rose but a ring of heart-shaped candles around the centerpiece. They were given special Valentine's Day menus, and Harry was thrilled to finally be able to look at a list of the food; the times Draco had taken him here he had always just ordered the special, since it was still assumed he knew what he wanted and nothing else was explained to him. Harry noticed both that there were no prices on the menu and Ron's nervous flush, but there wasn't anything that could be done about it, so Harry continued as if nothing had happened.

Dinner was delicious, but it paled in comparison with dessert. For that they had no menu, and the rose and candles were whisked away without a word as to what was happening. Draco smiled superiorly; it was clear he had been here on Valentine's Day before—which in no way made Harry jealous because that would be ridiculous—and he knew what they were being served.

As their waiter approached the table it was obvious why the centerpiece had been cleared. A large chocolate fondue pot was set in the middle of the table; strawberries, marshmallows, bananas, small pieces of bread and raspberries lined the plate, which spun in slow moving circles, allowing each of them a chance to try any of the offerings. Draco insisted on feeding Harry a chocolate covered strawberry, which quelled anyone else's desire to do such a thing; he got chocolate all over Harry's robes and face, as well as burning his tongue in the process. Draco turned a bright red and quickly magicked everything back to normal, though he couldn't stop their friends' laughter. Harry, once it didn't feel as though he had accidentally eaten an acid pop, also found it amusing, and had to prevent himself from a repeat performance of their marshmallow fight. Intrépide was hardly the place for such behavior.

After dinner—which Draco insisted on paying for, stating it was hardly proper to split the check—they returned to Hogwarts, cutting short any plans for romantic walks along the streets of Hogsmeade. The temperature had dropped even further and the wind had picked up to the point where there wasn't even snow on the ground or roofs; it was all whipping around violently, making for a very unpleasant time. Harry and Draco were relegated to the last carriage since they had left the others to wait in the cold on the way, and they stood shivering, waiting for the final carriage to pull up, dashing inside as though their lives depended on it. This time there was no talk of sexual favors; they were both too full to consider such things, and Harry had a suspicion that, given Draco's earlier statement, they'd be busy soon enough.

When Harry and Draco arrived back at their room, it was Harry's turn to kick him out of the bedroom. Draco fussed a little but did a very bad job at covering his excitement and curiosity. Once alone, Harry performed a series of quiet spells, making sure Draco couldn't heart what he was doing. In all honesty, he felt a little silly; he hadn't completely decided he was going to do this until he told Draco to wait in the living room, words that he hadn't entirely meant to say. But now it was too late, and rose petals cascaded out of his wand, adorning all available surfaces, especially the bed. He lit a series of candles, making sure to keep the light level low. Finally he arranged the gifts he had gotten Draco on his pillow: a dozen roses—real ones, purchased from a flower shop rather than magicked from his wand—and a box of chocolates.

Harry stepped back and took in the scene. Suddenly he felt more than a little silly; this was downright ridiculous. An overworked cliché, never mind the fact that he was a boy, and probably should have prepared something a little more manly, whatever that meant. Just as he was about to undo everything, a flash of Christmas Eve flew through his mind. All Draco's family traditions, how classic the holiday had been, how excited Draco was to place the star on top of the tree and listening his mum read to him. Harry lowered his wand. Ridiculous and clichéd maybe, but he had an idea Draco might appreciate it.

Or laugh him out of the room; one or the other.

Harry opened the door and stuck his head out. "Okay, Dray, you can come in."

"I sense something bed-related," Draco said with a smile, walking over from the window. "Perhaps you have outfitted it with a new set of handcuffs, or a…" He trailed off when he saw what Harry had done. He remained silent, and Harry fidgeted nervously, trying to wait for Draco to speak before he let out a stream of excuses as to why he had done such a stupid thing. "Harry, this is—"

"Really stupid, yeah, I know," he burst out. "I don't know why I thought it was a good idea, I just kind of got—mmfph!" Draco cut him off with a searing kiss, hands tangling in his hair, tongue ravishing his mouth. When he pulled away, Harry saw the telltale flush and darkening of his eyes.

"No," Draco said firmly. "It's not stupid. It's a little bit brilliant, actually. You spoil me so, Harry." He kissed him again, more gently this time. "Thank you, my love. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Er, yeah," Harry stammered. This was not what he had been expecting.

"You have made me feel guilty about my gift for you, though," Draco said. "Very rude."

"It'll be fine," Harry said, blushing furiously. "Definitely more creative than this."

Draco's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps. First I want to open that package, though. I can see the _Chat Chocolat_ logo from here, and I find I have just enough room left for a single truffle."

"I sent Brian out for them," Harry said, following Draco to the bed. The rose petals had been enchanted to avoid human contact, and they fluttered out of the way when they sat. "It seemed a little silly, but I know how much you like them, and—"

"Not silly at all," Draco said. "They do quite a business on this holiday, sending packages all over the world. You are hardly the only one to settle for nothing less than the best." He chose a truffle and popped it into his mouth, sighing as he ate it. "Simply fantastic. Now here, this is for you," he said, a small package flying out from the closet.

The box was quite small indeed, and rectangular. Harry unwrapped it quickly and found another box containing a small vial, the same shape as the one Slughorn had used for Felix Felicis a few years ago. This time the liquid was a dark red, and Harry looked at Draco. "What is this?"

Draco smiled wickedly. "The name is irrelevant, not to mention the trouble you would get in if anyone heard you repeat it. Strictly speaking, this is against pretty much every rule in Hogwarts, but neither of us have ever had a particular problem breaking the rules, now have we?"

Harry looked at the vial apprehensively. "Dray, what is this?"

"Just drink it," Draco said. "You'll love it, I promise."

He uncorked the vial and sniffed. It smelled like roses and vanilla and just a touch of something naughtier. "This isn't a love potion, is it?" he asked. "Because I'm already in love with you, that would be—"

"Quite redundant," Draco finished. "No, it's something else entirely. Come on, Harry. Don't you trust me?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then drink it."

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	54. Chapter 54: Mid March Quarter Past Three

**A/N:** March! March is awesome. It's actually plot driven, rather than just fluff or smut or whatever.

But there is something more important we need to talk about. And that is Draco Malfoy's hair.

You see, I had a dream last night. In that dream I got to touch his hair and it's _so fucking soft you have no idea_. I also got to kiss him and hold hands and he came after me when I got upset and ran away and snuggled with me on the floor. All of that was really, truly, spectacular. But guys, his _hair_. You have _no fucking idea_.

Do not be surprised if a one-shot centering around his hair shows up sometime soon. Not right now, because I still can't think and I'm still basking in the glory of my dream. And I owe the delightful MirrorFlower and DarkWind a story. But soon. _Soon_.

**Chapter Fifty-Four:**

_**Mid-March, Quarter Past Three**_

Harry was woken up by an insistent pecking on his head. He groaned and tried uselessly to swat the bird away, but it was only when he accidentally hit Draco who yelled at him to just take the damn letter already that he untied the parchment from the owl's leg. He pulled himself up, grabbed his glasses and his wand, and with a quick _Lumos_ he read the note.

_Mr. Potter—_

_I apologize for the late hour, but please come to my office immediately._

—_Professor Whisp_

His stomach knotted. He would have been worried enough had it been another professor, but a midnight call from the Defense Against Dark Arts professor couldn't lead to anything good. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Harry dressed by wandlight and was halfway out the door when Draco called after him.

"Where're you going?" he asked, voice slurred with sleep. "Who's the owl from?"

Harry didn't want to worry Draco, but it was too late for him to think of a quick lie. "Professor Whisp called me," he said. "Don't worry, go back to sleep."

Draco sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Don't worry? It's—" He looked at the clock, "—quarter after three. How is that not worrying?"

"I'm sure it's fine," Harry said, not sure at all. "Really, go back to sleep. I'll be back soon."

Draco eyed him. "I'm coming with you," he said, getting out of bed.

Harry groaned silently. Why was it he always had someone trailing after him, keeping an eye on him? For goodness sakes, it wasn't as if the Headmistress herself had owled him, or there had been another early-morning announcement. It was an owl, that was all. Though since he couldn't calm himself, he didn't really see any point in trying to convince Draco to stay behind, so he stood quietly, waiting for him to dress. When Draco started trying to fix his hair without a mirror with his wand in one hand pointing behind him, rendering the light he was producing useless, Harry lost his temper.

"Stop it," he snapped, accidentally sounding much meaner than he meant to. "The note said immediately. You've gone past several immediatelys already, and not only are you not going to be able to fix your hair like that, it won't matter, because it's three in the morning and she _didn't even owl you in the first place_."

"Shut up," Draco replied, as he followed Harry out the door.

The walk to the second floor had never taken as long as it did that night. They entered the dark, empty classroom with wands raised, providing both light and a sense of safety, and ascended the steps to Professor Whisp's office. A thin stream of light was visible beneath the door. Harry knocked.

"Professor?"

"Yeah, come in." Her voice was muffled by the door, but Harry could still hear the note of panic, and he opened the door apprehensively, muttering _Nox_ just in case he needed to use his wand to cast another spell or, more reasonably, because the office was well lit.

And a bit of a disaster area, Harry noted. A half-packed suitcase lay on Whisp's desk, and she waved her wand, causing what seemed like half the room to pack itself. She was wearing a travelling cloak and, for the first time, her hair was down, chestnut waves falling into her face and standing out in all directions, despite a near constant effort to keep it out of her eyes.

"Harry, good, you got my note," Whisp said. Nearly another first—the only time she had used his given name was at the Yule Ball, and that had been under quite different circumstances.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Your owl was quite insistent. Professor, what's going on? Is everything okay? Death Eaters?"

"No, no, nothing like that," she said, and his heart slowed. "Sorry to have scared you; I guess I could have phrased myself better. Winnie—my youngest—found Mathilda's wand, and there was some sort of accident, I don't know what, the letter from St. Mungo's didn't say."

"O—oh," Harry stammered. "I'm very sorry."

"You'd think at six she'd know better, but apparently not," Whisp said, a note of anger sneaking in beneath the anxiety. "Mathilda's my wife, by the way, I don't think I mentioned that."

"We know," Draco said. "You told us at the Yule Ball."

Whisp jerked, seeming to see Draco for the first time. "Oh, yes, that's right. Anyway, I've got to go to the hospital straight away; Mathilda's been—been _somethinged_, and my brother is watching my daughters, but he's got his own family and his own job and I need to be there for them."

"Yeah, of course," Harry said. "Do you want me to send out an announcement that class is cancelled?"

"No, if only it was that simple," she said. "I caught that damned flu in January, remember? I already spoke to Minerva, and she was quite upset about the idea of again cancelling class indefinitely. Rightly so; even with the war over, defense is paramount." With the bookshelves mostly emptied and the drawers of her desk emptied, she magicked the case closed, and took a deep breath. "No, Harry, I need you to take over for me."

Harry gaped at her. "Teach the class, you mean?"

"Precisely. I've left you notes here on what we're studying in each class, as well as detailed instructions for your own year. I'm afraid you'll have to teach yourself that." A great deal of scrolls flew into Harry's hands, and he had to do some very quick, rather tricky magic to keep them from falling everywhere.

"Isn't there, I dunno, a substitute or something?" Harry asked. "I mean, I'm honored that you think I'm capable, but—"

"No, I've tried that," Whisp said, quickly pulling her hair back into her traditional bun. "My subject is still thought of as cursed at Hogwarts and the professors on scroll weren't willing to fill in, not even for a few days." Her face hardened. "The stupidity of the wizarding race never ceases to amaze me."

"A—alright, then," Harry said. "Er, but, what about my own classes?"

"You've been excused," she said. "Now, is there anything else you need before I go?"

Harry thought there were indeed a great many things he needed, but she was clearly trying to leave, eyes flicking back and forth between himself and the fireplace, and he couldn't think of anything more specific than _Yes, help, please_. "Um. No?"

"Excellent." Whisp turned her suitcase into a backpack and pulled it over a shoulder, leaving it hanging awkwardly. "I will owl you as soon as I know when I'll be back." She grabbed a handful of Floo powder and, just before throwing it into the fire, added, "Good luck, Harry. _St. Mungo's Hospital!_"

Harry watched the fire envelop her and then die down, showing nothing but an empty fireplace. He continued to stare at the soot-stained bricks, trying to wrap his head around what was expected of him. Tomorrow—or, technically, later today, was a Tuesday. He supposed that was as good a day to start as any; at least the first class wouldn't be his own. The thought of trying to keep charge of a bunch of seventh-and-eighth years, especially Slytherins, was downright petrifying, whereas the rest of the school was merely terrifying.

"Um," Harry said again. "Okay. Right."

"You can do it," Draco said, trying to be helpful. "After all, if there was any class you're prepared to teach, it would definitely be Defense."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Definitely. I'll just, y'know, grab a handful of Voldemort's ashes, resurrect him, and kill him again. No problem."

"I really, _really_ hate to say this, but you should probably get Granger," Draco said, all but grinding his teeth as he spoke her name. "She's good at—I mean, passable—seems to have a grasp on, rather, organization and—such things."

"That's brilliant," Harry said. "Really, really brilliant. Let's go." He extinguished the fire and hurried to Gryffindor Tower. He cursed, very loudly, when he reached the Fat Lady, realizing he _still_ didn't know the password.

She cracked an eye open. "Some way to wake up," she grumbled. "Being sworn at like I've set the bloody castle on fire. Go in, and quickly; I want to get back to sleep."

Harry stared as she opened for him. "Um," he repeated. "Password? What about that?"

She huffed. "I'm not daft, Potter. We've all been informed of your temporary rise from student to faculty. You don't need a password if you're a professor."

"Oh," Harry said.

"But I _will_ be informing the Headmistress if you take advantage of this power," she said dangerously. "Like if you leave me hanging open at _three-thirty in the morning when I'm trying to sleep_."

"Right. Sorry," Harry said, hastening inside, Draco quick on his heels. He walked over to the portrait of Heidelberg and saw that he, too, was sleeping. "Excuse me," Harry said, clearing his throat. "Um, Heidelberg? Wake up."

The shepherd opened his eyes, barely. "What do you want?" he muttered angrily.

"Can you get Hermione for me please?" Harry asked. "It's a bit of an emergency."

Heidelberg sighed heavily. "I had _just_ gotten back to sleep after being informed of this sudden change in plans. Really, why have you got to have Defense Against the Dark Arts at all anymore? The Dark Lord is dead. You should be turning your attention to more important things."

"Like shepherding?" Harry asked as a sheep wandered into the frame and nudged the shepherd.

Heidelberg glared at him. "_No_. Like modern wizarding relations and politics. Subjects that will help you get along in the real world."

"Right," Harry said. "Well, McGonagall doesn't see it that way, and I've really got to speak to Hermione. Please?"

"I have been informed you have the authority to order such things," he said, getting to his feet. "And so I will. _Begrudgingly._"

"Thanks," Harry replied. "Loads. Really."

The shepherd made no reply as he walked off the side of the portrait. Harry bounced on the balls of his feet, still clutching the scrolls awkwardly.

"Here," Draco said, taking out his wand. "You're going to make a mess of everything. _Wingardium Leviosa_." The scrolls flew out of Harry's hastily conjured charm and landed neatly on one of the tables. Harry started pacing nervously in front of the portrait, wondering how it could possibly take so long to wake Hermione and for her to come down. Ron was the heavy sleeper, not Hermione. This wait was really ridiculous, there was no reason—

Then Heidelberg reappeared and told Harry she was getting dressed and she'd be down in a minute.

"Thanks," Harry said again. "Really."

"Hmfph." Heidelberg settled back down and was asleep by the time Hermione appeared, wide-eyed and only half-dressed: she was still wearing striped pajama bottoms but had thrown on a Weasley sweater and a pair of fuzzy slippers.

"Harry, what's wrong?" she asked, and Harry saw she also had her wand in hand. "Heidelberg said something about Whisp vanishing in the middle of the night?"

"Well, not vanishing, no, not exactly," Harry said. He either spoke not at all or quite a bit when he was nervous, and his one-word sentences were starting to be replaced with blathering nonsense. "Mathilda got cursed, maybe, or something, by her daughter, and Whisp had to go to St. Mungo's, and now I've got to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts and I don't—well, there's a pile of scrolls over there," he said, gesturing as Draco sorted through the scrolls, "but I don't know—"

"Harry, calm down," Hermione said, tucking her wand into her pocket. "Who's Mathilda? And you're really in charge of the class?"

"Whisp's wife," Harry replied. "And yeah, I am." Hermione looked a little upset at this, and Harry thought she might be jealous. Clearly Hermione hadn't thought it through. "You're the best at organizing and time management and all that, everyone knows it," he said. "Please help."

Her expression became determined. "Of course," she said, walking over to the table. "First we've got to find the schedule, so you know what to prepare for."

"Here," Draco said, handing it to her. "The rest of these are all by year, including those, which are detailed instructions on the work for our year."

Hermione eyed them longingly, but took the schedule. "Right. Tomorrow is Tuesday, so you've got Hufflepuff and Gryffindor first years. Ooh, but you don't have time free for lunch. You'll have to have a really big breakfast, then. But first years, that should be easy enough. Draco, have you got that scroll?"

"Uh—" He started digging through a pile. "Yeah. Here."

"They're working on the Curse of the Bogies." Hermione giggled a little. "I remember that. Harry, remember when Peeves used that on you?"

"Vividly," Harry said bitterly. He had nearly passed out from all the mucus clogging his nose, throat and head.

"Well there you go! That should be a breeze."

"'Mione, just because I remember getting cursed doesn't mean I know how to do it," he said. "I didn't exactly go around cursing Death Eaters with _head colds_."

Draco sniggered at this, which Harry didn't find helpful at all.

"It's all written down," Hermione said, passing Harry the scroll. "See? The curse, the counter-curse, the history of it, why it's used, why it's being taught, all that."

"Okay, brilliant," Harry said sarcastically. "Now I've just got to memorize another—how many classes, then? Never mind teach myself whatever we're supposed to be working on? And, I dunno, _learn how to teach_?"

"Just pretend it's Dumbledore's Army," Hermione said. "You taught us all fine then."

"Yeah but—but—" Harry couldn't find the words to describe how different this was. He wasn't just acting on instinct. He was actually teaching students who were going to be tested on the knowledge he was going to be teaching them. Never mind the fifth years, who were depending on him to prep them for their O.W.L.s, and the seventh and eighth years, _himself included_, who were going to be taking their N.E.W.T.s in just a few short months. March was really not that far away from June; only four months, and he should be busy _studying_, not _teaching_. He felt a sudden burning hatred towards Whisp, briefly loathing her more than any other Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Quirrel included, who he had technically been Voldemort. Then he realized how ridiculous he was being, and calmed a little. At least he wasn't part Voldemort, not anymore. He had that on his side.

"And Harry, what better preparation for the N.E.W.T.s could you think of?" Hermione added, once again seeming as though she could read his mind. "You'll be brilliant!"

Harry was not convinced at all, but he didn't say so, not when she looked so jealous again. "Help me?" he asked again. "I've got four classes to teach tomorrow, and it's four in the morning. I'm exhausted, I've still got enough adrenaline to kill a Erumpent, and I'm getting a blinding headache. Please tell me I haven't got anyone our year tomorrow."

Hermione glanced at the schedule. "No, the highest grade you've got is fifth years. Remember, though, they're studying for their O.W.L.s, so—"

"Yeah, I know," Harry interrupted sharply. "It's important. I've got that far on my own."

Hermione bristled. "I was just trying to help," she said. "Here, I've got an idea." She tapped the paper three times, and the schedule changed colors, each square turning one of seven different colors. "I've sorted it by year for you. That should help."

"Brilliant," he replied, having no idea if he meant it or not. "Let's just start with that Bogie curse, alright? And the counter-curse? I don't want to start by sending an entire classroom to the infirmary."

Harry barely made it to breakfast. Hermione had to physically drag him down at quarter of eight, and she loaded him up with protein and carbs, as well as about a gallon of coffee. Draco and Ron, who had joined them briefly around seven, left just as they were coming in. They both wished him luck again, and Draco gave him a brief kiss before he headed to class. Harry thought it a very bad sign that he was entering the Great Hall when the students he was about to teach were already leaving, but he did as Hermione said. After all the help she had been, he could hardly refuse. And, he figured, she was usually right. Today was one of two days were he didn't have a lunch break, and while he thought he might owl Whisp asking how she managed that, he wouldn't have time until the end of the day.

Hermione allowed him a full five minutes to eat as much as he could before propelling him to the second floor classroom, despite the fact that she had Transfigurations on the ground floor.

She stopped him just outside the door and grabbed his shoulders. "Harry. You're going to be fine. You know this."

"Right." He didn't look at her, though, instead focusing his attention on the first years walking into the classroom, all of whom were giving him looks halfway between respect and apprehension. Apparently an announcement had been passed on, then. That was good. If he had to tell them himself, he thought he might throw up. Still, he thought that an entirely realistic possibility.

"They're first years, Harry," Hermione reminded him. "And you're the Savior of the Wizarding World. They'll do anything you say."

"Right."

"And Harry, do try to speak in sentences longer than a single word."

"Ri—yeah, 'Mione, of course."

She pulled him into a tight but brief hug, and kissed his forehead. "Good luck." Then she disappeared and, taking a deep breath, Harry stepped into the classroom.

Harry's first move was beginning to walk over to an empty seat before remembering he was the teacher. The students were watching him very closely and so he walked the rest of the way down the aisle, pretending he was investigating the class rather than covering for a stupid mistake. He arrived at the front of the classroom and had a very quick debate with himself over whether he should stand in front of or behind the desk; in front would imply he was going to be nice to them and a "friendly" sort of professor, where as behind would suggest a sterner, more removed attitude. He settled on the side, which, once executed, felt ridiculous.

"As you probably know, Professor Whisp is unavailable to teach at the moment, and I'm to fill in for her until further notice." _Brilliant_, he thought. _Tell them what they already know. Great start._ "Today we're going to be working on the Curse of the Bogie; can anyone tell me what that is?" Several hands rose, and Harry called on the only student whose name he was certain he knew. "Yeah, Stephen. Go ahead." The entire class's eyes went wide, and Harry immediately realized he shouldn't have used his first name. "Er, Mr. Lynch."

"The Curse of the Bogie causes an instantaneous really bad cold, and if left unchecked, can result in fainting, Professor Potter."

Harry jolted at being addressed that way. Another fact that should have been obvious that never occurred to him. In fact, he probably should have introduced himself in the first place; he was so used to everyone knowing his name it hadn't crossed his mind. At least it was a matter of professionalism, not teaching. Too late now.

"Very good," Harry said. "We're going to learn the counter-curse before practicing the spell itself; it might seem awkward, but it's going to save a lot of trips to the infirmary. Can I have a volunteer?"

Everyone's hand shot up. The entire class was asking him to curse them. His fears waned considerably, replaced by extreme awkwardness. This was just too surreal. After staring blankly for a few seconds he called on a random Slytherin, and proceeded with Hermione's lesson plan.

To Harry's great surprise, he made it through the rest of the day without entirely embarrassing himself. He remembered to introduce himself, stood in front of the desk because it was easier to demonstrate that way, and did a decent job of covering the fact that he knew almost nobody's name. The double class with fifth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws was definitely hardest, especially because about halfway through his thoughts focused almost entirely on the fact that his friends were all eating lunch and he could really go for a heaping plate of just about anything. Fortunately his lack of attention resulted in only one accident, and he was able to mend the injured student himself.

He was utterly exhausted by the time his last class let out. He'd only gotten four hours of sleep, had skipped lunch, and taught five classes without a break, standing the whole time. He plodded up to his room, feeling personally assaulted by every stair between him and his bed. All he could think about was sleep, followed immediately by dinner.

Harry never made it to his bedroom. His living room was densely populated by Draco, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Aurora and Luna, all asking him how it went, and, after much prodding, telling him what the students thought of him. The answer was pretty much what he had thought—the younger the student, the more impressed they were, leading to a group of awe-inspired first years spreading tales of being cursed in class. Although the upperclassmen were skeptical of the story, the fifth years had mostly good things to say. The only topic everyone seemed to agree on was that he acted more like a student than a professor, which Hermione had a never-ending list of suggestions on how to fix.

Just as unhelpful, Hermione also had what seemed like a never-ending pile of homework for him. He tried explaining to her that McGonagall had personally excused him from his classes and all related work, but she wouldn't hear a word on the subject. Since he didn't know how long he'd be away from classes, she reasoned, he simply _had_ to keep up, otherwise he could get hopelessly behind, which would lead to missing homework and worsening tests, ultimately resulting in the failure of his N.E.W.T.s, thus ruining any chance he had of working for the Ministry and becoming an Auror. Harry thought she was severely exaggerating and told her so, leaving out the part where he expected she was probably right.

With a lot of help from those who hadn't missed class he finished his Charms and Transfiguration homework before dinner, leaving only Herbology and the lesson plans for tomorrow. _Only_, Harry thought bitterly as he walked down to dinner. First thing in the morning he was teaching seventh and eighth years subject matter he didn't know and never had, and was ending the day with his own class. Plus he was again forced to miss lunch, which would again affect the fifth years. No wonder the upperclassmen thought him useless; he was delirious with hunger and exhaustion by the time he got to them, and his second wind hadn't come until after they had left. Brilliant scheduling.

Halfway through dinner, which for Harry consisted of most of the food on the table, he realized Hermione was to blame for this. She had helped McGonagall with scheduling, she had forced him into nonstop classes all day and then hours of make-up work followed by lesson planning, and, most importantly, _she had deprived him of lunch._ He started yelling before he swallowed his potatoes, spewing enough food at her that she needed to conjure _Protego_, lest she be covered completely with his dinner.

"—and if that wasn't enough," Harry continued after he swallowed, the first understandable words in his tirade, "—you scheduled the highest levels for _first thing in the morning_, not even bothering to give me time to eat _breakfast_, let alone _lunch_ before teaching things _I don't even know!_"

"I didn't—" Hermione started quietly. "That is, the scheduling was mostly up to McGonagall, and she checked over all my work, so really, Harry, it's not my fault."

"But I can't bloody well yell at McGonagall, now can I?" Harry asked angrily. "I might be a professor which, fucking hell, isn't fair either, but that doesn't give me the right to go off on our bloody _Headmistress_."

"But that doesn't mean—"

"YES IT DOES," Harry said very loudly, attracting stares not only from his table but from the entire hall. He lowered his voice. "Hermione, do you realize what I've got to do after dinner? I need to do my Herbology homework, which _you _are making me do, then I need to memorize the second year lesson, as well as relearn whatever they're studying, go back over the fifth year lesson in case I missed something the first time around, _grade papers_, which I had completely forgotten about until now, and _master spells we haven't even gone over_ for _first thing in the morning _and then _teach them again _to _OUR CLASS._" He escalated again, and got more stares, especially from the class he was no longer a part of. "And after that, I have to _do the homework for the class I just taught_. Do you have any idea how ridiculous this is? And all of this is going on _indefinitely_. For all I know, this could be my entire _year_. _How am I supposed to take my N.E.W.T.s when I'm GIVING THEM MYSELF?"_ More stares, but Harry didn't care.

"I'm sure it won't be that long," Hermione said, still keeping her voice very quiet.

"Right, because you're so bloody good with Divinations you can see the future," Harry replied, at least keeping his voice level. "Is that it, Hermione? Have you seen when Whisp is getting back? Because I could really use that information." Hermione looked ready to cry. Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave Harry a very nasty look. Harry pushed his plate away. "Forget it," he said. "I'm not hungry anymore." He stormed out of the Great Hall, once again attracting stares, and stomped up to his room, fuming the whole time.

What right did Whisp have to ask him to do all this? Merlin's bloody beard, he was _eighteen_, he wasn't in any place to be teaching a class, even if it was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Why was it everyone assumed he was so bloody good at it anyways? Just because he defeated Voldemort, that hardly made him an authority on the situation. Strictly speaking, Voldemort had died because Harry disarmed _Draco_, and the Elder Wand felt allegiance towards him. That was hardly something he could teach; disarm everyone you can, just in case one day you have to fight your mortal enemy, the being from which all evil originates. Right, he'd just pen that in next to Whisp's notes, and be done with it. _Fuck_.

"Harry James Potter," he said, all but yelling at the sphinx.

"Somebody's in a mood," it replied. "At least when you were exhausted you were polite."

"Shove it," Harry snapped. "You portraits have got to do what I say, and I'm bloody well telling you to _let me in_."

The sphinx hissed at him, but the door opened. He slammed up the stairs and banged the door open. He could see the pile of work waiting for him and his anger was gone, replaced by the sudden need to cry. _Everyone _always expected _so much_ from him, it wasn't fucking _fair_. But he didn't have time for tears or self-pity and so he closed the door much less aggressively than he had opened it and sat down on the couch, pulling his Herbology book over. Neville had left his bag, hardly a surprise, and Harry looked over his notes, trying to figure out what they had covered. It seemed Neville wasn't brilliant at taking notes, though Harry figured that of all his classes, he wouldn't bother with notes for Herbology, since it came so naturally to him. At least he had written enough to get Harry to the right chapter, and he managed with the just book.

He had just figured out not only the properties of the _formidulosus arbor_ but also the topic of the essay, which Neville had been very vague about, when there was a knock on the door.

"GO AWAY," he shouted. His quill hovered above his parchment, the essay topic driven out of his head by the interruption.

"Harry?" It was Draco, which did almost nothing to quell his anger. "My key isn't working, I can't get in."

Harry didn't answer. He had remembered what he was supposed to be doing and returned to the essay. He wasn't exactly sure how long it was supposed to be, and he was busy measuring Neville's parchment when Draco spoke again.

"If you want to be left alone that's fine, but can I at least get my bag?"

Two feet. Brilliant. _The _formidulosus arbor _was bred into existence in the early 15__th__ century by the wizard Zacharias Ollerton in order to…_

"Harry, please."

Harry slammed his quill down, creating a giant blot in the middle of the page. "_I'm not doing anything!"_ he yelled. "_There aren't any bloody enchantments!"_

"Love, you've got to be. The sphinx hardly let me in and my key won't turn."

"IT'S NOT ENCHANTED!" Harry took a deep breath and, in a more reasonable tone, added, "Your key must be mental."

"It hasn't got any enchantments on it, I already checked," Draco said. Then, in a small voice, he added, "The door does. I also checked that."

Harry swung around and pointed his wand at the door. "_REDUCTO!_"

The door fairly vanished. Bits of wood clung to the edges of the frame and a few splinters lay on the floor but, for all practical purposes, he had exploded the door. Draco had wood dust in his hair, and that was the last thing Harry noticed before he returned to his essay.

…_to protect his home against the invading Cyscal army._ _His lawn was densely populated by the vicious trees, rendering contact with the outside world impossible. Eventually he was forced to clear a path so he could go to the market, as Gamp's Elemental Laws of Transfiguration excludes the option of transfiguring food, and Ollerton hadn't the foresight to increase his supplies before they ran out._

"Harry, are you alright?" Draco asked.

"Bloody perfect," Harry snapped. He measured his parchment. Two inches. That just left another twenty-two to go. With a quick bit of maths, he figured he could be done by seven-thirty at the earliest. If he wanted to get six hours of sleep and still have time for breakfast, he'd have to be up by seven, seven-thirty at the absolute latest. That gave him until one to deal with the lesson plans, though he figured most of that time would be taken up by learning the new magic. It was six-thirty now, so he had six and a half hours to get everything done. He glanced at the schedule Hermione had made again. He wouldn't need more than a half hour for the fifth years, and almost certainly no more than that for the second years as well. If he finished his Herbology essay by seven-thirty and he hadn't underestimated the timing for the other classes, that left him with four and a half hours devoted to his year. That wasn't so bad.

Then he remembered the pile of scrolls in his bag that needed grading.

The picture window overlooking campus cracked, then exploded outwards, spraying glass onto anyone unlucky enough to be standing below and sending a ferocious wind and whirling snow into the living room. All the carefully organized scrolls went flying across the room, lodging themselves randomly in the bookcases. His essay, along with Neville's, which he still had out, got stuck behind his Herbology book and made an unfortunate crunching, ripping noise as they slammed full-force into the soft chair, the sharp corners of the book tearing into the parchment and the hard cover crumpling the paper. The final straw was the fireplace shooting out a jet of flames, torching the schedule he needed so desperately.

"_MERLIN'S FUCKING BALLSACK!" _Harry screamed. His wand had been whipped across the room and lay on the floor at the foot of the bookcases, shaking violently in the wind.

"_Fenestra Reparo_," Draco said calmly. The window reappeared, though Harry thought it far too late to matter. There was already snow everywhere, and it would take him at least a half hour to clean up the mess, a half hour he needed. And the schedule—there was no way of repairing that; it had been reduced to a pile of ash, differing in no way from the ash from the logs. Harry sat numbly as Draco performed a series of spells. "_Nix Evanescant_," vanished the snow, "_Pergameno Reditum_," returned all the scrolls, as well as the essays, "_Aequabis_," returned the essays to their former non-crumpled-and-ripped state and, with a minor miracle, Draco poked his wand into the ashes, said "_Unignis_," and the schedule reappeared, complete with Hermione's colorings. It floated for a moment and then gently landed on the rolls of parchment containing the lessons.

"It did occur to me that you destroyed the room on purpose," Draco said, sitting in the chair closest to Harry. "I figured if that was the case, you'd glorify at the chance to do it again. And if it was an accident, which I think more likely, then I have returned order from the literal ashes of catastrophe."

"Shut it," Harry said with no conviction whatsoever. His quill, which had previously been lodged in Draco's chair, was sitting in front of him once again, and he continued with his essay as if nothing had happened.

_This gross overuse of the _formidulosus arbor _led to a series of strict laws regulating the growth of the trees and the trade of their seeds. While a special taskforce needed to be formed in the aftermath of Ollerton's creation, it quickly disbanded due to the quick realization that the trees, however useful in repelling unwanted company, were just as good at preventing their owners from entering and exiting their property. They enjoyed a second vogue in the mid-1900s in America due to their Civil War, but the practice was quickly outlawed due to the number of Muggle soldiers being murdered by plants. It is theorized that the infamous Battle of Gettysburg was in fact won due to an invasion of the _formidulosus arbor _in the Confederate campsite, though it has proven difficult to verify, as Muggles are not likely to admit their comrades were killed by flora._

Harry measured again. Six inches. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. Really, who bloody cared about American Muggle wars from two and a half centuries ago? How exactly was that supposed to help him be a more successful Auror?

Draco lay a hand on his knee, and Harry jumped. "_Merlin_, Draco, give a man some _warning_, would you?" Harry snapped.

Without another word Draco stood and walked into the bedroom. Harry sighed. He'd yelled at Draco more than enough—that is to say, more than not at all—and he really ought to lay off. "Dray, wait," he sighed. "Come back. I didn't mean it."

Draco reappeared, holding a small bottle of something. "Take your shirt off," he said.

Harry groaned. "Don't you dare tease me," he said. "I don't have enough time to _breathe_, let alone—"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Potter, and do as I say," Draco snapped, sounding very much like his old self. The shock of the words had their desired effect, and Harry did as he was told without another word. The scent of peppermint filled the air, triggering a half-buried memory Harry couldn't place, and then Draco's hands were on his shoulders, kneading the tight muscles, slowly working the knots out of his back. It was the peppermint massage oil that had come in the gift box Harry had gotten Draco for Christmas. They had only used it once before, after Draco had a particularly difficult Arithmancy lesson, and there was plenty left. Harry sighed into his touch, the peppermint tingling delightfully. Harry allowed himself a full minute, marked by the clock, before he leaned forward, pulling away from Draco's hands and returning to his essay.

"Harry," Draco said firmly. "Stop it. You need a break."

"Can't," Harry replied, already involved in the _fascinating_ history of the _formidulosus arbor_. "Herbology. Then reviewing fifth years, then second years, then learning for our class on my own, then grading papers. Maybe sleep, if I'm lucky. And a big breakfast, or at least a vat of coffee to bring with me." He had another revelation. "Fuck, I don't even know the topics the papers are on." A second revelation. "And I forgot to assign homework. Goddammit; no wonder everyone was looking at me so strangely when they left. I thought I just had my cloak on funny."

"If it's any consolation, you probably did," Draco replied. The table flew out from under Harry, moving forward several feet. Not only could he no longer reach it, but his quill had left a long, blotted line across the parchment, as well as a few rips.

"Goddammit Draco!" Harry yelled. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"Sit on the damned floor, Potter, and not another word."

"Yeah, depriving me of a comfortable seat will definitely make my paper turn out better," Harry said angrily. He looked around for his wand, but it remained by the bookcases. "Put the table back. I don't have time for your bloody games."

"_Deinceps_."

Harry let out an undignified yelp as he was suddenly pushed off the couch, hitting the floor with a very uncomfortable thump, and propelled forward until he was in front of the table. "DRACO!"

"I believe the phrase, as you so delicately put it, is _Shut it_," Draco said smoothly. "Move back a little further, and bring the table with you. I may have been overzealous."

"Fuck off."

"I'll only spell you back if you don't listen."

"FINE," Harry yelled, jerking backwards, pulling the table with him. He turned back to his essay but before he could even fix the parchment, Draco's hands were back on his shoulders. Harry let out a small whimper, unable to help himself. He was so bloody tense, and Draco felt brilliant.

"Do your work," Draco said. "Surely the mere presence of my hands on your shoulders isn't enough to render you thoughtless."

"I—fine," Harry said. He fixed the parchment and continued with his essay. It did go a bit slower, and he had a tendency to drift off every few minutes, closing his eyes and focusing on Draco's hands, but he finished only fifteen minutes after his allotted time limit.

He summed the fifth year lesson plan wandlessly, and it occurred to him that if he ever ran out of things to teach, he could always focus on that. Merlin knew he needed the practice himself. Defensive theory. Right. It would be theory that was doubled; heaven forbid he do anything interesting over the course of an hour and a half, the time he should have been using for lunch. He skimmed over Whisp's notes, reminding himself of the few spells they'd actually be performing. At least he didn't need to practice those, or look them up; a quick glance was enough to remind him of what he had already done.

Second years got Cornish Pixies; apparently there was a cage of them in the corner of the office. Given that Harry had failed to notice last night, they must have had some sort of calming charm on them. He looked up several ways of reversing a variety of sedatives and declared it good enough. If there was one thing Lockhart had taught him, it was how to catch Pixies. Harry was momentarily distracted by listing all of the reasons Lockhart was an absolute prick before deciding that was not a useful way to spend his time.

Harry sighed heavily. "Alright, Dray, that was fantastic, but you've got to stop. All I've got left is our year, and that'll be hard enough without you distracting me."

"Grade papers first," Draco said. "And scoot forward, I can't reach your lower back from here."

"No," Harry said. "I'd rather be late with papers than not be prepared for tomorrow. And haven't you got any of your own homework? I know you did Transfiguration with me, but surely you've got more than that."

"Just Muggle Studies, and I already finished," Draco said. "Tuesday is my short day, remember?"

Right. It had been for Harry, too, when he had been taking classes. Merlin, it felt like ages ago, but it had only been a day. At least it had been an informative day; he learned he never, ever, _ever_ wanted to teach. _Ever_.

"Then go off and relax," Harry said, a bit bitterly. "Enjoy your precious free time. I'll just sit here and drown in parchment. Just hand me my wand on your way out, would you?"

"_Accio_ Harry's wand." It flew across the room and Harry caught it deftly, despite its trajectory towards Draco. "I won't leave you alone," Draco said. "Let me help you."

"I can't," Harry said miserably. "Whisp says at the very top of the parchment in very big letters I'm not allowed to show anyone the curriculum they're following."

"Ah," Draco replied. "Am I allowed to be in the same room as you?"

Harry sighed. "I suppose. Just don't do anything too exciting, all right? It's bad enough without watching you have a brilliant time."

"What would you have me do?" Draco asked.

"Move so I can sit back on the couch," Harry replied. "And stop looking over my shoulder so I can get the damned lesson plan."

Draco moved gracefully to a chair and sat sideways, long legs hanging off the arm of the chair. "Am I allowed to do something other than stare off into space?"

"I don't bloody care!" Harry snapped, summoning the appropriate scroll. "Just don't throw a bloody party!"

Draco didn't respond to that, merely summoned a book and began to read. Harry turned spitefully to his scroll. He would have vastly preferred to read for enjoyment, but that didn't seem to be in his immediate future. Or his non-immediate future, he realized. Classes were already starting to pick up for N.E.W.T.s and after that he'd been in the training program, which everyone had warned him was as difficult as it got. Once he passed that, he'd be busy running around, chasing dark wizards; he had also been lectured about the long hours and numerous trips. He guessed his book on Aurors might shed further light on the subject, but it didn't matter, since he didn't have time to bloody read it.

Harry unrolled the scroll angrily, and almost laughed. Wandless magic. Of course. He read through the chapter first, as per Whisp's instructions, and then her notes, which were nearly as long. Then, trying to be surreptitious and not alert Draco to what he was doing, Harry set his wand down and began muttering a series of spells under his breath, starting with the ones he could already do. _Accio. Lumos_, though he quickly extinguished the light; he had forgotten that when done wandlessly, it was his hand that lit up, and he thought Draco might notice if he started glowing.

After a few minutes of summoning various objects to himself, he started on protection spells. He managed _Protego_ easily enough but had a significant amount of trouble with _Expelliarmus_, largely due to the fact that he had nobody to practice with. He had shoved his wand between two pillows, though he didn't think disarming the couch really counted.

"Harry, dear, would it be at all helpful if I happened to be holding my wand?" Draco asked.

Harry froze, brain reeling with a logic trap. Technically, he hadn't told Draco what he was doing, nor would Draco be the one getting the practice. But it would still confirm his suspicions, and he'd have ample—or, Harry thought, looking at the clock—not so ample time to practice before class. "Er—"

"I'll just do that, then," Draco said lightly. "In case of a sudden Death Eater attack. You never know when they might strike."

"Right," Harry said vaguely. Draco picked up his wand, absentmindedly tapping a rhythm on the pages of his book. Harry focused all his energy on the spell, thinking _Expelliarmus_ as hard as he could, but he couldn't tell if the small twitches of the wand were from the spell or how Draco was playing with it. After eight and a half minutes—Harry was keeping a very close eye on the time—there was a distinct jerk, though Draco didn't lose his grip. Still, it gave Harry hope, and after an additional three and a quarter minutes, Draco's wand flew out of his hand and into Harry's. He immediately tossed it back to Draco, justifying it with a transparent, "In case of Death Eaters."

"Of course," Draco replied smoothly. "You never can tell with Death Eaters."

He disarmed Draco in half the time his first attempt had taken, and by his fifth try, he was able to do it as easily as with his wand. Harry smiled to himself; he felt very accomplished indeed. Yes, he already knew the basics of wandless magic, but still. He had never attempted an actual duel without a wand, and while disarming a distracted Draco was hardly dueling, it was a huge step in the right direction.

"Y'know," Harry said, handing Draco his wand. "If there were Death Eaters around, it might be helpful to have a protection charm up."

"Hmm, I do believe you're correct," Draco mused. "_Protego_."

_Reducto_, Harry thought. _Reducto, Reducto, Reducto._ A brief flicker of red, nothing more. He ground his teeth together and pictured Voldemort in Draco's place. _Reducto!_ Still nothing more than a wisp.

This time it took a full twenty minutes to get even a facsimile of the curse to work and after that, Harry stopped timing himself. Draco was starting to nod off, his protection charm flickering in and out of existence, making Harry very nervous. He switched from _Reducto_ to _Protego_ and, eventually, a sleeping Draco was once again shielded. Back to _Reducto_.

By the time Harry felt prepared enough to teach, it was three in the morning. Four hours of sleep. Maybe four and a half, if he was quick getting dressed and skipped a shower. Brilliant. He shook Draco awake and collapsed onto their bed, falling asleep immediately, still fully dressed.


	55. Chapter 55: Not As Trivial As Expected

**A/N:** More March! I'm so glad you're all enjoying this plot.

And, I've got some good news for you! While I've finished this story and have for a while, I'm slowly building up a collection of Drarry one-shots that I'll publish when this is done, so you won't have to go through me-withdrawal (Merlin, that's egotistical). Anyway, you know what I mean. Plus, at least so far, they're all really fluffy and adorable, and I know how much you all love the fluff ^.^

Actually, meh, I think I'm going to go reread them now. Today is kind of blah and I sort of feel like crying, so some fluff is just what I need. Maybe leave an extra-kind review, if you feel like it? Some days are just harder than others. _sigh_

**Chapter Fifty-Five:**

_**Not As Trivial As Expected**_

Harry successfully made it through his first lesson, seventh and eighth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, without feeling like a total dolt, and the high was enough to get him through double fifth years. Just as the second years started to file in a tawny owl tapped sharply on the window, and Harry nearly tripped over himself in his desire to read the letter. It had to be from Whisp; not only did he not recognize the owl, but nobody else would be owling him in the middle of the day. He opened the window and was greeted by a blast of freezing air he hardly noticed in his haste to untie the letter.

_Harry—_

_Headmistress McGonagall has informed me your first day a success; congratulations. Teaching is hardly an easy feat, let alone to your peers._

_The Healers are still puzzling through what Mathilda was cursed with; it seems Winnie had gotten ahold of not only her wand but also one of my Dark Arts book and mangled several extremely dangerous spells together. Thankfully some of the damage was cancelled out, and again lessened by the fact that she's only six, but Mathilda has yet to wake up, and the purple boils all over her face still need to be drained every hour. Some progress has been made, though—she's stopped mumbling dark magic under her breath, a relief to us all. As you should know from today's lesson, it is altogether too easy to perform magic without a wand, and there was a nasty twenty-four hours where she had to be kept under constant supervision, lest she accidentally curse someone. My girls are a wreck, Winnie utterly inconsolable, and my time with them is just as nerve-wracking as sitting by Mathilda's side._

_My memories of our meeting are somewhat hazy due to panic and a lack of sleep, but I believe I forgot to thank you. You are immensely brave to do as I asked, and I am not taking your actions lightly. Once things have calmed down I intend to speak to the Headmistress and discuss payment for your time. Needless to say, your house will be rewarded with as many points as I'm allowed to hand out, but you will be receiving your own compensation as well._

_As my ancestors would say, _Go n-eiri an t-adh leat.

_Good luck, Harry._

—_Amelia_

_p.s. Needless to say, upon my return to the Hogwarts staff, I expect to be referred to as Professor Whisp and nothing less._

By the time Harry finished reading the letter the classroom had filled, and he didn't have time to think it over. The Pixies, which Harry was sad to say he successfully woke up, took his entire attention, and then it was time for his own class. His stomach churned angrily as the second years left and the first students started to trickle in. Ron and Hermione were among the first to arrive and while they gave him an encouraging smile, they quickly retrieved their books and refrained from any further contact. No doubt they didn't want to draw attention to the fact that they were best friends with the professor, and while Harry thought that wise, it was still somewhat disheartening. Draco behaved much the same, though Neville couldn't resist a "Hey, Harry," as he walked in. Even worse were the Slytherins, who sniggered and whispered things no doubt very unpleasant as they sat down. Harry had already prepared a different opening speech for this class, and once everyone arrived, he took a deep breath and began.

"I know this is weird," Harry said. "And awkward. Some of you probably know more than I do, and nothing I can say or do will change that. I've had a night to prepare for this class, and I'm sure some of you already know wandless magic and can do it without a second thought.

"I'm not going to insult you by asking you to call me Professor Potter; that's just ridiculous. You know me as Harry, and that's how I'll stay. I'm on a first name basis with pretty much all of you, and there's no need to make this any more difficult than it has to be.

"However, I am your teacher, and I expect the same amount of respect you'd give Professor Whisp, or Headmistress McGonagall. I can dock points from your houses, give you detention and make your lives as difficult as any of my colleagues. I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it has to, it will."

Harry took another deep breath. That seemed to have gone over well enough; nobody laughed or whispered while he spoke. Yes, most of the Slytherins were looking at him as though he was something unpleasant on the bottom of their shoe, but that wasn't any different from normal.

"Alright then. Wandless magic. How many of you have done this before?" Only two students raised their hands, and Harry was completely unsurprised to see they were Hermione and Draco. He had been hoping for at least one more person so he wouldn't have to call on one of his friends first, but it seemed he had no choice. At least he could avoid his boyfriend. "Hermione?"

"Wandless magic is particularly volatile," she said, almost a direct quote from the book. "Only the most skilled witches and wizards can cast effective spells, and the results of an incorrectly performed spell are considerably more dangerous than those performed with a wand." The fact that Harry had accidentally cracked their table in two in the wee hours of the morning was testament to that; in fact, that was when he decided it was time for bed. "Sometimes hand gestures are used to make the spells more powerful, but…" She trailed off.

"Yeah, go on."

"Well, I haven't read this anywhere, but wouldn't that defeat the point of wandless magic? It's so often combined with casting spells silently, it would seem to negate the point of not using a wand in the first place."

The first question of the lesson, and it was one Harry could answer. He would have kissed Hermione were they not in class. "Sometimes, yes. But if you have been disarmed—" Harry focused all his energy on what was now referred to as his signature spell, and was delighted at how quickly it worked. Hermione's wand obediently flew off her desk and into Harry's hand. "—like so, and you're facing an advancing opponent, you can use all the help you can get."

Hermione flushed, and Harry tossed her wand back.

"We're going to start with _Accio_, since it's your best chance at getting your wand. You can practice wordlessly if you'd like—as Hermione pointed out, they are often used in tandem—but feel free to speak the spell. Put your wands at the far end of the table and start with that."

Harry wasn't terribly surprised that the room was completely silent, filled with furrowed brows and squinted eyes. He thought that might happen; the appeal of being both wandless and silent was very strong, as well as the fact that most students who had made it to N.E.W.T. level courses were extremely stubborn and clever, a combination leading to an intense need to prove themselves.

Neville was the first to break the silence, uttering an extremely frustrated _Accio_, and though his wand didn't move, a different sort of spell was broken. Almost immediately more than half the class started voicing the summoning spell, and they were rewarded with a much higher success rate. The level of noise remained fairly constant as previously silent students got more frustrated and those encouraged by their verbal success returned to silent casting.

Eventually Harry stopped the students, and instructed them to cast _Protego_ instead, saying it would come in handy for their next class. His instinct that this incentive would provide useful was absolutely correct, and by the end of class, nearly everyone had successfully performed the charm at least once, including a handful of silent spell-casters. The only homework he left them with was to practice their protection spells, this time outright saying if they hadn't mastered them by Friday, they'd end up in the infirmary.

Ron, Hermione, Draco and Neville hung back as the rest of the class exited, and once they were alone, Harry was pulled into two hugs simultaneously, one from Hermione and one from Draco.

"You were brilliant," Hermione said. "I didn't want to say anything yesterday, but I was quite nervous about this class."

"Really?" Harry said nonchalantly. Hermione had stepped back but Draco still had him in half a hug, and Harry slipped an arm around his waist. "Couldn't imagine why. This was the easiest class by far."

"Have you heard from Whisp yet?" Hermione asked. "About how long you'll be teaching?"

Harry's face fell, both the façade and the actual bravado fading. "Yeah, I got an owl fourth period. She doesn't know. But Gryffindor's going to get loads of points, and apparently I'm going to be paid somehow."

Ron grinned. "Good. We need all the points we can get."

"I'm dating a Hufflepuff and if you ever repeat this to anyone I'll kill you, but Hufflepuff's been in the lead for months now, and I'd be mortified if they won," Neville said. "Especially since I cost us a hundred points."

"Hufflepuffs never win," Draco said firmly. "They're useless, and it would be a disgrace to the school."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Neville said rather pleasantly. "I might not be able to do wandless magic, but it just so happens I happen to have my wand on me at this very moment."

"Hey," Harry said, deepening his voice, puffing out his chest and exaggerating his expression. "No fighting in front of your professors. Keep it to deserted corridors."

This caused everyone, including Draco, to be overcome with a serious case of the giggles.

The group returned to Harry and Draco's room to study, let in only after a very long apology on Harry's part. Luna and Aurora joined them soon after, Aurora bearing a plate of sandwiches. Harry _did_ kiss her, on the cheek, and she flushed, saying it was nothing, especially since the Hufflepuff dorms were so close to the kitchen. Harry took a break from his never-ending pile of work to eat, scarfing down the food in a way that made even Ron look at him distastefully, never mind Draco. But the combination of starvation and the need to use his time as efficiently as possible rendered him uncaring.

By the time dinner rolled around he had finished his essay as well as getting his potion in a state where it could be left alone. Yes, it would mean he had to keep a careful eye on the clock and return no later than seven eighteen exactly, but that allowed him nearly an hour for dinner. While he didn't eat much, still full of the sandwiches Aurora had brought, just sitting at the table and relaxing was entirely worth the sleep he'd have to miss in order to make up for the lost time. The exhaustion from the past two days was on a temporary reprieve, making the decision easy, even if he knew he'd regret it later.

Draco finished the potion while Harry skimmed his schedule. He hardly needed to go over the Curse of the Bogies again, and he felt he had quite a good grasp on curses, including the Unforgivable Curses, that he needed to teach the fourth years. That left him with only double sixth years and a pile of essays that needed grading. Not too bad.

Harry ignored the essays for now, instead focusing on nonverbal spells, much to the annoyance of everyone around him. They would be studying peacefully and quietly, and all of the sudden a protection charm flew up around them, or the fireplace shot out jets of harmless flame—scaring Neville half to death but leaving him unharmed—and, as a result of a particularly bad decision on his part, hovering Hermione's inkwell halfway to the ceiling. She had been too busy writing to notice it was gone and she stabbed her quill into the table, cracking the tip. She cursed loudly, interrupting Harry's concentration; the inkwell fell and hit the corner of the table, shattering glass and ink everywhere. This caused another bout of angry swearing as Hermione magicked away the mess and pulled out a spare inkwell. Harry didn't see what the problem was, seeing as she cleaned up and had spare ink, rendering her speech longer than the time it took to get reorganized, but he chose not to comment.

Harry was much more on top of things in comparison to yesterday and the night before, and he felt positively elated at all the progress he made. It was only eight and he had finished everything but grading, and since two of today's classes only had spells to practice, his workload was considerably smaller. He glanced out the window he had shattered last night, feeling a little guilty at the memory, but focused his attention on the weather. Dark and cloudy, about a foot of snow on the ground, but not actively snowing. He summoned this term's Quidditch schedule—again wordlessly, causing Aurora to shriek with surprise when the paper brushed the back of her head—and saw it was his lucky night. Last weekend Hufflepuff and Slytherin had played and the next match wasn't until May, leaving the field open for most of the week as the teams took a breather.

"Dray, Quidditch?" Harry asked, leaning backwards over the couch. His glasses slipped to his hairline and any effects of the yellow bottle disappeared, but it was worth it for Draco's snort of laughter as his position.

"I'm not quite done here," he replied. "Ten minutes? Maybe twenty?"

Harry sighed dramatically. They hadn't played in ages; first it had been blizzards, then the field was constantly booked in preparation for last week's match and the one before, and then the sudden increase in studying for the N.E.W.T.s. Harry desperately wanted to get back out on the field, to ride his new broom and, perhaps most enticing of all, to set an interesting wager. Their last game had defaulted to galleons—Harry now owed Draco two hundred—as they only had fifteen minutes before the Slytherins showed up for practice, and he was quite ready to resume more attractive betting.

"Fine," he grumbled, pulling a stack of second-year essays over. The dangers of Pixies. Brilliant.

Harry was halfway through the third paper when Draco announced the potion complete. He carefully magicked the draught into a flask as Harry skimmed his way through the last few inches, taking points off only for the mention of Lockhart's disastrous class. Third essay, third time it had been mentioned, second time he had docked points. At least one of them had remembered to properly cite their information, rather than leaving it up to second-hand gossip.

Harry and Draco quickly changed into Quidditch robes, Harry downing a considerable amount of Salamander hot chocolate before leaving. While Luna and Aurora said a brief goodbye before returning to their work, Ron, Hermione and Neville ignored them completely, brows furrowed in looks of deep concentration. Hermione was managing to keep a protection charm around herself but only while muttering under her breath, which she seemed determined to fix. Ron's flickered in and out of existence while Neville was fairly hopeless, no matter how loudly he yelled the charm.

It was warmer outside than Harry had suspected, given the coating of snow and drifts that stood taller than his head pushed against the castle walls. It was still cold, of course, but the bitter winds they had been forced to contend with were absent, and he thought it might even be above freezing by a degree or two. The pathway to the field was cleared, as well as the field itself.

"What do you say for stakes?" Draco asked. "Care to owe me any more galleons?"

"Hardly," Harry replied. "Not only am I going to destroy you, but I want something far better than galleons."

Draco delicately arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, 'oh'," Harry replied with a bit of a smirk.

Neither of them spoke, and eventually Draco asked, "Care to elaborate?"

Harry flushed. "Well, I didn't have anything in particular in mind," he admitted. "Just something more interesting than galleons."

"More interesting than galleons?" Draco echoed. "Hmm. I think we can arrange that. Loser has to be the one to convince McGonagall to let us go home for Easter weekend."

"Er—" Harry was drawing a blank. "Are we going somewhere?"

"I figured we ought to start looking for a flat," Draco replied. "Like I said, Knightsbridge is the very best and, after owling with Mother, there appear to be only two wizard-only flat buildings. I've written to a realtor and they've both got vacancies—and an extremely vigilant review board. We really ought to start the meet-and-greet process as soon as possible; ideally we would have been corresponding with both since the holidays, but that ship has sailed."

"I—" Harry stammered. "Er, but, already? We're not graduating until the third week of June."

Draco looked at him as if he were daft. "Yes, that's why we should have started this business ages ago. I'm afraid only a personal appearance will make up for such lax behavior. I've arranged lunches on both Saturday and Sunday with the review boards of The Præses and Magus Towers, respectively."

"But—" Harry couldn't quite wrap his head around this. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

Draco shrugged. "Never came up. In any case, I'm telling you now, so what's the problem? Really, since you're a professor and all, the job of talking to McGonagall should reside on your shoulders, but I'm willing to make the bet."

"Wait," Harry said firmly. "Hang on. Two buildings? Out of all of London, even if it's narrowed down to just Knightsbridge, we've got to choose between _two_ buildings? Draco, there's got to be _hundreds_ of open flats."

"I'm not going to live in a _Muggle_ dwelling," Draco snapped. "And we've already agreed on Knightsbridge."

"By which you mean you've bullied me into it," Harry shot back. "If you're really insisting on one of the two, I ought to be able to pick which."

This time both of Draco's eyebrows rose. "I would have thought the decision one a couple should make together."

"And we are," Harry replied. "You've designated the neighborhood and have decided on one of two buildings. My part comes in choosing the actual flat. Unless," he added dangerously, "you don't think I should have a say at all."

"Well, no, of course not," Draco said, starting to get a bit flustered. "I didn't mean that at all. I—all right, fine. You can pick the flat. Though I warn you, we may not be accepted at both buildings. Surely the combination of the Golden Boy and Malfoy name will get us something, but we're also young, and neither of us will have a decent, paying job."

"Have you a backup plan, then?" Harry asked. "If we don't get in?"

"A few have crossed my mind, but they don't bear mentioning," he replied. "We'll get in. It'll be fine."

"Right." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Will you at least tell me when you make major life plans for us? It's like when you didn't even mention, let alone ask, about the holidays. There's two of us. We have an equal say."

"Of course, if it means so much to you," Draco replied. "I only just got confirmations for our luncheons on Monday, and I forgot to mention it before everything with Whisp. But yes, I'll do my best to include you. We can look at floor plans tonight, if you'd like."

Harry stared at him. "You've already got floor plans?"

"They came with the brochures," Draco said. "You can see those, too, though they're terribly dull and pretentious." A little bit of Harry's annoyance waned at that; the thought of Draco calling someone else pretentious was ridiculous. "Anyway, about the floor plans. The Præses has got two flats available, while Magus Towers only one. I wouldn't want you to get your heart set on one in particular, but I'll show you after our game."

"Right," Harry repeated. "Okay, so, loser talks to McGonagall?" Draco nodded. "As much as I hate to admit it, I think I should probably do that, regardless of who wins. I can probably guilt her into letting me do whatever I want, as long as I show up looking haggard and like she's making my life impossibly difficult, I imagine she'll say yes to a weekend away to recuperate."

Draco smirked. "The Sorting Hat knew what it was talking about when it wanted to put you in Slytherin. Very well, that duty will fall on your shoulders. You leave us lacking, though—what about our bet?"

Harry had nearly forgotten they were supposed to be focusing on Quidditch, despite the broom in his hands, the robes on his body and the gloves on his hands. "I had been picturing something more bedroom-oriented anyway."

Draco's smirk widened. "Picturing, Potter? Picturing what, exactly?"

Harry flushed. There wasn't anything in particular, he hadn't had time for that, not with his double workload. All he'd been thinking of were hands and lips and erections and flashes of those endless slate eyes. And maybe the face Draco made when he came. "Y'know, I've always wanted to see you wank."

"Always?" Draco asked. "Really, Potter, always? Or just this year?"

His flush darkened. He flashed back to sixth year, when he had walked in on Draco in the bathroom. He had been bent forward, shaking and whimpering, and for more than a split second, Harry had thought he was doing something quite different from crying. Then he had looked up, their eyes had met in the mirror, and he had realized how wrong he was.

Sixth year.

The dream he'd had, ages ago, when he talked to his subconscious in Draco form. That had said sixth year.

Huh.

"Since just before I scarred you," Harry said, hoping the mention of Draco's scars would be enough to distract him.

"Ah, the bathroom incident," Draco said smoothly, not distracted in the slightest. "I thought there might have been something in your eyes that night, though I decided I had just been upset, lonely and wanting. In any case, my desire far outlives yours, Potter."

"Oh?" Harry asked. Certain things were stirring, starting to pay attention to the conversation, and just the one word had taken a moment. "Since when?"

"Since about when I figured out what playing with myself meant," Draco replied. "So, I dunno, first year? Second? Certainly before third, I'd imagine. It's been a while, you know."

Harry was now bright red from his hairline down to the base of his neck, even past the neckline of his robes. "That long?"

Draco's smirk turned decidedly sexual. "Oh, yes," he said. "Absolutely. As soon as there was a face to picture, it was yours." He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "First your face, then your dick, then your arse. It progress as I got older, of course, and learned how exactly two men had sex. Oh, and I can't forget your mouth, or your fingers. Not to mention every other part of your body, depending on my mood. I swear, Potter, I've wanked to everything you've got."

Harry closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, letting his broom fall and grabbing Draco's face with both hands, anchoring their lips together. Passionate, almost painful, full of biting and sucking and tongues fighting for control. Draco grabbed Harry's hips, jerking him even closer, and Harry forced a hand between their bodies, cupping Draco and stroking roughly. Draco groaned into his mouth, and Harry pulled away.

"So, loser's got to wank in front of the other?" Harry asked, breathing heavily.

Draco's eyes were still closed, and it took a moment for them to open, and another to clear. His mouth was dark pink and open just slightly, and Harry found it very difficult not to grab him and resume their activities.

"Uh—" Draco sighed. "Yeah. Sounds good."

"Great," Harry replied, retrieving his broom. "Let's go then." He shot off, flying halfway across the field before Draco was up in the air.

"Cheater," he yelled, circling the field in the opposite direction, rather than trying to catch up to the Silverlight.

"Not my fault if you're too obsessed with sex to pay attention," Harry replied, well aware that it was indeed his fault.

Draco spun around so they were flying together. "You're the one who grabbed me, in more ways than one."

"Well you were standing there talking about wanking to me," Harry said. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Exactly what you did," Draco replied. "You just weren't supposed to stop."

"Oh, I see." Harry, who had been spending a great deal of time and effort on wordless, wandless spells, concentrated very hard, and Draco let out a yelp.

"What the hell was that?" he screamed.

Harry grinned. "Nothing in particular," he replied. "I just shifted your broom slightly. And your boxers."

"_Shifted_?" Draco yelled. "More like bucked up and stroked."

Harry shrugged. "Phrase it however you want. It wasn't much. Anyway, weren't we playing a game?" He sped away, leaving Draco only a little distracted.

Or perhaps more than a little. Draco rejoined Harry. "So you've pictured me wanking, eh?" he asked. "Ever wanked to me yourself?"

Harry's flush returned. "I—well, kind of."

Draco glanced at him. "Kind of? Either you have or you haven't, Potter. There's no in between."

"I mean, I guess, in black and white terms, yeah, I suppose."

"You're going to have to be far more specific than that," Draco replied. "Especially given your less than specific answers."

Once again, he was the color of an embarrassed Weasley. "Afterthebathroomthing—"

"Louder, Potter," Draco drawled. "And try using real people words. 'Afthebroothig' isn't a thing at all."

Harry took a deep breath. "After the bathroom thing," he said again, "I—well, you know how stressful sixth year was, and I had that thing with Ginny, and so I needed to release tension, y'know? And pretty regularly?"

"Yeah, yeah, silencing charms, protection spells, bed-hangings firmly locked in place," Draco said. "We've all done it. Get on with the story."

"Right," Harry said. "So, y'know, I'd be—doing _that_—and, sometimes, that initial look, of you bent over and shaking and whimpering, well, that sort of sneaked in, sometimes. But then it would be so weird, because it's you, because you were crying, because I nearly killed you."

"So you never came for me?" Draco asked, sounding disappointed.

They were flying close enough that they could easily see each other's expression, including any blushing, despite the dark night. Harry was very glad they hadn't yet thought to light the field, even if Draco could somewhat see him. It wasn't as bad if it was fully lit, and with their flying, they couldn't look at each other for more than a few seconds at a time.

"I mean," Harry started. "Well, sometimes, y'know, at inopportune moments, I might have thought of you, at the wrong time."

There was a moment of silence, and then Draco asked, "So you did?"

"Once or twice," Harry mumbled. "Not on purpose."

Another moment. "Never? It never occurred to you once, not in seven years?"

Harry let out a quick, deep breath. "Well, y'know—curious, every now and then—and someone, I dunno who, probably Seamus, got a gay magazine once as a joke, and it sort of floated around—so, y'know, experimenting. But magazines—especially ones that everyone's seen—it's not like the real thing, so I'd think about someone at school, and, well—everyone knows you mess around with guys. And I've always thought you're attractive, everyone does, it might have happened." Harry coughed. "Once or twice." He felt Draco's eyes burning on his skin. "Stop staring, don't fly into something."

Draco's eyes snapped forward. "What did you think about?"

Harry's eyes closed for a second. "Draco, I don't know. It was ages ago. And really, it didn't happen a lot. Plus, y'know, not when I was dating Cho or Ginny. I never thought I was gay, I just—"

"Stop it," Draco interrupted. "I don't want to hear whatever excuses you made up for wanking to a guy. I want to hear what got you off. What about _me_ got you off."

"Fine," Harry snapped. "Your eyes, boring into mine. And your bloody hands, your fingers, they killed me, every time. I'd close my eyes and pretend it was your hand and pictured your eyes."

"How many times?"

"I don't know!" Harry yelled, getting very frustrated indeed. "It wasn't something I liked thinking about! I'm not gay—I mean, I wasn't then—and I liked Cho, and Ginny, and just girls in general, and I didn't know about sex with guys, not for a stupidly long time, and, y'know—" He cleared his throat. "Girl parts, and stuff."

"Right, you wanted to fuck girls, I got it," Draco said. "And you didn't know you could fuck guys. What about when you did?"

"I wasn't gay!" Harry said again. "It was just every now and then, I'd get distracted, or something would stick in my head, like you shaking in the bathroom, or once the way you stirred your potion. I didn't keep track. I didn't want to think about it. I wasn't gay and I hated you, mostly. I'm sorry I'm not living up to your expectations."

"No, don't—" Draco cut off. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't like me. I shouldn't have pushed. Forget it. Let's just play." He started to speed up, but Harry kept pace.

"Wait," Harry said. "Stop. It happened. I never experimented with boys at all, never felt any need to, and if you asked me I never would've admitted it, because it didn't—it wasn't anything, it was just wanking, y'know? I don't have a number for you, but I did think of you, sometimes. I'd kind of, like, think about different guys, see what happened. It'd be nice, I guess, but nothing special, but you—it was always different with you."

"Different," Draco echoed. "Alright. I suppose that's—I just hoped, all those years, that it crossed your mind, and you weren't immediately repulsed. I figured that was all I could get."

"Well it did, and I wasn't, and you have me," Harry said. "If I can forgive everything you did, surely you can't get too upset that I wasn't screaming your name every night."

A ghost of a smile crossed Draco's face. "Yeah. And besides, you did, at least once. That was what I wanted, and it happened."

"And you have me," Harry repeated. "Now. Isn't that more important?"

Draco smiled fully. "Yes."

"Now come on, let's play, for real. I've got to get back and do—Merlin, I don't know, whatever I've got left." Harry smiled sideways. "You've successfully made me forget what I have to do."

"I can tell," Draco said. "For instance, you're supposed to be looking for the Snitch, and you haven't even cast a light spell yet."

"You do it," Harry replied. "You're supposed to be practicing wandless magic anyway."

Draco grimaced. "It's bad enough you've got to give me homework in class, don't make me practice out here."

"No teacher kink?" Harry asked with a grin. "I don't get to dress you up and tell you off for skipping class and not turning your homework in? I'd take you over my lap and spank you with a ruler, make sure your tie is hanging down so I can see."

Draco let out a quick puff of air. "No Catholic school girl skirt?" he asked, and Harry couldn't tell if he was joking. "I thought that was the whole point of that particular scenario."

"How'd you even know about Catholic schools?" Harry asked, avoiding the question entirely. "Wizards haven't got them, and I wouldn't have thought you'd be allowed to even _hear_ about the Muggle world."

"Muggle Studies, Potter," Draco said with an eye roll. "I did actually pick up a few things. Not about the kink, of course. That I pursued on my own."

"So I am allowed to order you about, then," Harry replied. "Give you homework, make sure you get it done on time."

Draco groaned. "Harry, there's a difference between actual homework and roleplaying. Just cast the bloody spell, would you?"

"_Lumos Maxima_," Harry said, and the field lit up. "Are we actually looking for the Snitch, then?"

"Roughly speaking. I'll just fly around after you and _learn_, Professor Potter," Draco said, throwing the words back at Harry.

"Oh, shove it," Harry said amicably. "I've got to get back to work. Let's just end this thing."

They split up and hit full speed, rocketing around the field. Harry was trying to decide if he'd rather win than lose, a far more important task than actually looking for the Snitch. When the stakes had first been suggested he was certain he wanted to lose—the idea of watching Draco wank was extremely tantalizing, and he hadn't forgotten his admission on Christmas that he sometimes used a vibrator—but after Draco's admission, and his clear disappointment and upset, Harry thought it might be a better idea to let Draco win. Besides, on a more selfish level, he thought getting off might be a nice break from the constant stress he had been under.

With that decided, Harry slowed almost imperceptivity. He didn't want Draco to know what was going on, that certainly wouldn't end well. Draco would never agree to accept the winnings if he thought the results were fixed, not with his ego. Harry continued to circle the field and to look for the Snitch, staying just a touch slower than Draco. And when Draco saw the Snitch and darted towards it, Harry slowed just a little more as he whirled around and shot downwards. He and Draco were coming from opposite directions, and it was easy enough to let Draco catch it.

"Fuck," Harry snapped as Draco flew in circles around him, dangling the ball in his face. "Dray, seriously? After the giant clusterfuck my life has become, you don't think you could've let me win, just once?"

"Oh, stop complaining," Draco said lightly. "You get to come, after all. That'll relax you more than getting wound up watching me."

"Right, because it's definitely not weird or stressful at all to be watched while I wank," Harry said, rolling his eyes as they landed. "And it's not like you won't need to come after. What're you gonna do? Have me blow you? Fuck me? Or are you going to get so turned on you'll come just from seeing me?"

Draco's eyes glinted, even when Harry extinguished the light he'd cast. "Hmm. I'll have to think about that one. I assume you won't do anything until you've finished working?"

"You're so very, very clever," Harry replied, lacing his fingers with Draco's. "I don't think it'll be much longer. The second year's essays are only a foot and a half, and then I've just got fifth years. Do you have anything left?"

"Nope," Draco said lightly. "Finished Potions and History of Magic, and I'll I've got left is Defense. My professor's a total arse, you know; we're dueling on Friday and if I don't get my protection spell down by then—_wandlessly_, mind you—I'm going to get killed."

"Yeah, I've heard he's going to take away the wands entirely," Harry replied with a bit of a smile. "No last-minute protection. He figures it'll be good motivation."

Draco glanced at him. "Really?"

Harry shrugged. "Just a rumor I've heard. You can't believe every bit of gossip that goes around the castle."

"Right," Draco said vaguely. "Maybe I have got a bit to do, then."

"I certainly wouldn't blame you," Harry said. "Better safe than sorry."

"You certainly took your time," Hermione said as they walked in. She was still surrounded by books and parchment, but everyone else seemed to be relaxing.

"Yeah, I've been destroying Neville for the past half hour," Ron said delightfully. "Queen to Bishop eight. Check."

"Goddammit," Neville muttered.

"Did you run off to mess around?" Aurora asked. "Is 'playing Quidditch' your newest euphemism?"

"No," Harry said, sitting back in his seat and grabbing the nearest essay. "Just Quidditch. And talking."

"Making plans for after graduation," Draco said, draping himself over a chair.

"Yeah?" Ron asked as his Rook bashed Neville's king to death. "Harry, you're going to Auror training, right?"

"Yeah," Harry replied vaguely. "Bloody Pixies. Who needs to know this, really? Smack it over the head with your wand, that'll do the trick. At the very worst, a well-timed _Reducto_ would blow them to smithereens."

"Malfoy?" Ron asked, resetting the chessboard. "Going to join Harry in London?"

"Yes," he said, switching chairs with Neville so they could play. "Reestablishing the Malfoy name, returning our family to high society. You know, the usual."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Course you are. Harry's working on saving the world, and you're flitting around, going to parties and luncheons. I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"You could benefit from doing the same," Draco replied. "Weasleys have never had a respectable name."

"Differing definitions, Ferret," Ron snapped.

"I'll be at the Ministry, too," Hermione said, cutting off the fight. "I just heard back from the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; they've provisionally accepted me, as long as I keep my grades up and earn all the necessary N.E.W.T.s."

"Yeah?" Harry said. "You've been waiting to hear for ages. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I just heard, I told you," Hermione said, a bit miffed. She and Harry were both busy with homework, and neither was giving their full attention. "Yesterday at lunch. I didn't want to tell you while you were in such a vile mood. Besides, you weren't even at lunch."

"Well congratulations," Harry said. "Staying with your parents, or getting your own flat?"

"Mum and Dad," Hermione replied. "Until I have some savings. Then Ron and I will get a flat together."

"In Diagon Alley," Ron added. "George asked me to help out at the store and, well, I couldn't say no."

"You're all staying so close to home," Luna said, looking up from her book. "Don't you want to travel? See the world?"

"I'm moving," Neville said quietly. "I've been waiting to tell you. I'm going to live in America for a year, doing an internship at Barnstable Academy."

Harry jerked up from the essay. "You're leaving?"

"Just for the school year," Neville replied. "Then I'll be back at Hogwarts, training with Professor Sprout."

"We'll miss you," Hermione said. "Come home for the holidays, will you?"

He glanced at Aurora, who continued to stare at her book, though Harry noted her eyes weren't moving. "We'll see," Neville said. "I'll be here for the summer, though, don't worry."

"Minnesota is hardly travelling," Luna said. "Though it's nice that you're seeing another school. Hogwarts will certainly benefit from your knowledge."

"I assume you're gallivanting off, then?" Draco asked, eyes on the chessboard.

"Oh, yes," Luna replied. "I've gotten a scholarship from the Ministry and I'll be touring eastern Europe, looking for new magical creatures. It's quite exciting. I'd rather leave now, but the Ministry insists on N.E.W.T.s."

"As well they should," Hermione said sternly. "Finishing school is just as important as what we do after."

Aurora sighed. "Yeah, I've got that covered," she said. "Still not graduating until next year. You're all going off on exciting adventures, and I'll be stuck in Barnstable for another year. Minnesota, oh boy."

Neville flushed, and stammered out, "I—I'll be there."

She smiled. "Yeah. I get to date the professor." Her smile turned a bit lecherous. "Lucky me."

Neville's flush darkened, and Draco smirked. "It's an enjoyable experience. Or it will be, once Professor Potter's done grading papers."

"Shut up," Ron and Hermione chorused. Ron added, "Nobody wants to hear about that."

"You should all shut up," Harry said snippily. "I've got another twenty or so of these, and then fifth years. Neville, you're crazy to want to spend the rest of your life doing this."

"I dunno, I don't think I'll mind," Neville said. "I'll be better at something than everyone else. That alone is worth it. Besides, I like helping people."

"Brilliant," Harry snapped. "You can take that pile there. Theory of Defense. Go ahead."

"Calm down, Harry," Hermione said lightly. "It'll go faster if you stop complaining."

"Even faster if you guys stopped talking," Harry said.

"Aren't you at all interested in our plans?" Luna asked. "I'll be away for at least a year. Won't you miss us?"

Harry sighed hugely. "Yeah, of course I will. It's just these goddamned Pixies. And bloody Lockhart. Every goddamned time. I've got to tune you out; I'll be back when I'm done. _Muffliato_."

The room became silent, and Harry worked much faster. Mostly. He did keep looking up and watching his friends have fun while he was stuck grading papers, but it was better than listening to how excited they were about next year. Harry was going to be stuck in training even worse than the hardest day at Hogwarts for six months, minimum. And then the grueling job itself. The closer he got to graduation, the less he wanted to be an Auror. That wasn't quite right; he _did_ want the job, he just didn't want the training, or the long hours. It would be bad enough on its own, but he was most worried about the strain on his relationship. Would Draco still want him when Harry came home after he was already asleep for the third day in a row? Or what about when he disappeared for weeks at a time to locations he was bound to keep silent? Draco would be out having fun while Harry toiled away. Would he be too boring? Or only talk about work?

Harry forced the thoughts out of his mind. It was only March—four more months of school, and two and a half months of summer break. Training started on September 1st, just like Hogwarts. The break was designed to give aspiring trainees some time off before undergoing the grueling session. It was almost worse than starting straight after graduation; he'd have a whole summer to stress and worry.

_Focus_, Harry thought. _Seriously. Get these bloody essays done._ _You get sex when you're done. Focus._

Sex. That was another thing. Never mind getting home late, what if he was too exhausted? It wasn't that his relationship was based on sex, not at all, but it was damned good. Harry's stomach plummeted. What if he couldn't satisfy Draco anymore? He was very used to a lot of sex, all the time. If Harry wasn't able to give it to him, would he go somewhere else? He glanced at Draco, who was frowning at the chessboard. Harry's heart clenched. He needed Draco. He loved him. All these what-ifs were killing him.

Draco sensed his stare and turned to face him. He said something, but Harry was still behind his silencing charm and couldn't hear. He shook his head. Draco said something to Ron, then stood up and sat next to Harry. He rested his head on Harry's shoulder, lips only an inch or two from Harry's ear.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked quietly. "You look like you're about to cry."

"It's nothing," Harry mumbled. "I've just got a lot of work to do, and I'm really tired. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in days."

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, keeping his chin on Harry's shoulder. "Have you got any of these classes tomorrow?" Harry shook his head. "Then just stop. Do them later."

Harry shook his head again. "If I fall behind I'll never catch up again. It's fine, I'm just worn out."

Draco kissed his cheek. "I don't have to collect my winnings tonight if you're too tired."

Harry's stomach churned. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Not already, not yet. He couldn't already, he just couldn't. "It's all that's keeping me going," he said, which was true. "If I didn't have something to look forward to…"

Draco smiled. "I'll let you get back to work, then." He kissed Harry fully, swiping his tongue through Harry's mouth, and pulled away. "I've got to finish losing to the Weasel anyway."

"I love you," Harry blurted, just before Draco left his bubble of quiet.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "I love you, too. Are you sure there's nothing else going on?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll get you when I'm done. Good luck with chess."

"And you with your essays." Draco kissed his cheek again. "Talk to you soon, love."

"Yeah."


	56. Chapter 56: Metal is Nothing Compared to

**A/N:** I thought this was the last of the March chapters. Whoops! Still got another few to go.

**Warning:** There is a sexual situation here, but it's really almost entirely just fluff with a teensy bit of angst thrown in, but mostly just fluff, and hardly any blatant boyparts and stuff. Still, be warned.

And, hmm, I think that's it! Enjoy :)

**Chapter Fifty-Six:**

_**Metal Is Nothing Compared to You**_

It took a lot of effort to finish grading papers. The room slowly emptied; Neville and Aurora left first and then Luna. Harry didn't get a chance to say goodbye; he was looking down at his papers, and since he couldn't hear, he didn't know they were gone until he grabbed the next essay. Ron stayed to play chess with Draco, and Hermione was still working on homework, as always. He had been right—the second year papers didn't take very long at all—but the fifth years dragged on and on, parchment after parchment filled with theory and history and laws regarding acceptable use of magical force. Even Hermione finished her essay before him and she and Ron left. Harry took down the silencing charm, and he found it very comforting to hear again. The crackling of the fireplace, the creaking of the castle, and most of all Draco's steady breathing as he read one of his Nicholas Skye books.

It was nearly midnight when Harry finished. That was much better than last night, but still much later than he would have liked. He'd be able to eat lunch tomorrow, so he didn't have to leave time for a giant breakfast, just enough to get him through the morning, so he could probably sleep until seven-thirty, if he was speedy in the morning. It was impossible to calculate how long sex would last, especially with Draco's win. He'd probably be asleep by one, giving him six and a half hours. It was a very bad sign that such a short time seemed like a blessing, but it was a lot more than four hours, and Harry focused on that, instead of the eight hours he usually needed.

"Okay," he said with a sigh he hadn't been expecting. "Done."

Draco looked up from his book. "You look exhausted. Let's just sleep, yeah? I can watch you wank any time."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "Tonight."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware grading papers made you rowdy. In fact, I rather thought the opposite."

"I'm going to be this busy for as long as I can see," Harry said. "This, then N.E.W.T.s, then training, then work. I'm not giving up sex forever."

Draco moved to sit next to Harry. "Is that why you've been looking so upset?" he asked gently. "You're worried about our sex life?"

Harry was loathe to admit his full concerns lest Draco see reason and agree with him, and decided it would be better to end things now, before they got hurt. "It'll be fine," he said confidently. He stifled a yawn. "Besides, I need to relax. What better way than sex?"

"If you're sure," Draco said. "And please, Harry, don't worry about later. We'll work it out. I can always take you out for lunch and have a quickie in the loo."

Harry smiled. "Yeah."

"And you might be home late, but if there's anything I don't mind waking up for, it's sex," Draco said with a bit of a grin. "I'm _always_ up for sex."

Harry decided not to tell Draco his worries about him straying for more frequent, less coordinated sex, which was exactly why he asked, "You won't find someone else? Someone who hasn't got an impossible schedule? You could have sex with anyone, it'd—"

"And yet, I chose you," Draco interrupted. "Always. I don't care how long it is in between, I only want you."

Harry was reassured, a little. Draco might say that now, but once he was actually living it, only Merlin knew how he'd feel. "Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, I know. To the bedroom?"

Draco rested a hand on Harry's cheek, turning him so their eyes locked. "Harry, I promise. I'll be there every night when you come home. Forever. I know we're not talking about it now, and I still think we should wait, but I'm spending the rest of my life with you, whether you like it or not. You might not be wearing my great grandmother's ring like Weasley got Granger, but that doesn't change anything. Nothing so mundane as scheduling conflicts will come between us."

Harry pulled Draco to him, hugging him tightly. "I love you," he said. "I love you and I'm never leaving either."

Draco stood and held out his hand. "Shall we?"

Harry took it, twining their fingers together. "Absolutely. I owe you two hundred galleons, I'm not adding that debt any time soon." He stopped in the doorway, and Draco looked at him questioningly. Harry had been planning on the bed, but what if Draco wanted something else? This was his fantasy, after all. Harry ran through potential requests: there was the shower, or maybe the couch, or the floor in front of the fireplace.

"Harry?"

He flushed. "How do you—er, where?"

Draco took a moment to decipher his half-asked questions. "Do what you normally do," he said. "I don't want a show, or you to cater to me. I just want to see what you do."

Harry took a deep breath. "Right. Okay." He stripped down to his boxers, very aware of Draco's eyes on him, and climbed into bed. "I'm going to enchant the hangings closed," he said. "And cast silencing spells. If you want to, er, see, you should probably join me." Draco nodded once and sat on the very edge of the bed, legs crossed, eyes on Harry the whole time. Harry reached for his wand; he hadn't done wandless magic then, so he wouldn't now. "_Muffliato. Claudium. Rigidum._" He paused, thinking. It had been so long since these spells were necessary. What else had he used? "_Silens_." On top of _Muffliato_, there was no way anyone would be able to hear anything. The curtains were closed and spelled to stay that way. That was it, he supposed, and started to set his wand before realizing it was pitch black, and Draco would probably want to be able to see what was going on. "_Lumos Mollis_." A soft, gentle light emitted from the curtains, just enough to see by. He put his wand down. Now what? Draco's words echoed in his mind. _Whatever you do_. Okay.

Harry slid down so he was lying on his back, propped up by the pillows. He closed his eyes, searching for something to focus on. It had been so long since he'd wanked, and he was so used to Draco on him, under him, providing his pleasure. Like Monday night, when he ordered Draco to his knees. His breath hitched at the memory, but how could his own hand compare to Draco's mouth? He trailed a hand down his chest, resting on his boxers. Semi-hard already? He hadn't noticed.

_Draco's mouth_, Harry thought, gently massaging himself through the thin fabric. _Draco's mouth on me, sucking, liking, nibbling._ He let out a small whimper. _Draco's hands, sliding around to cup my arse, touching and squeezing, before slipping a finger—_ He cut himself off with a moan. He slid his hand beneath his boxers, drawing his lower lip between his teeth and letting out a sharp hiss as the contact. His thoughts flew, unorganized, skipping around from one memory to the next. _Draco beneath me on all fours, jerking and screaming as he pounded into me. Our first kiss on the Quidditch field, rough and unplanned and absolutely brilliant. Holding hands in the Great Hall, between classes, while lying in bed together, after one of my nightmares._ He took himself in hand, changing from massaging to stroking, hard and long, bringing himself to full attention. He stopped briefly, awkwardly wrestling his boxers off as quickly as he could.

_I was on top of Draco, lying on the couch in the Room of Requirement. We were moaning, kissing desperately, rutting against each other._

_Draco was between my legs on the shore of the Black Lake, taking me in his mouth for the first time, engulfing me in a warm heat before sucking._

_The way Draco looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world, like I was all that mattered. His expression between awe and lust, looking like he had finally found where he was supposed to be._

Harry's hips jerked up at that and he let out a low moan. He swirled his hand around his head, spreading the drop of pre-come.

_Our talk on New Year's Eve. We are going to spend the rest of their lives together, get married one day, settle down. Draco had been so nervous to share with me, but he had. I hadn't forgotten, in fact spent way more time thinking about it than I should._

_Draco standing on a raised platform in a crisp, white suit. A red rose in his breast pocket the only splash of color, except for the flush on his cheeks and the way his eyes sparkled. I walked towards him, a string quartet playing classical wizard music I didn't know. Molly Weasley walked me down the aisle, all eyes on me. Family, friends, everyone was there._

_I didn't see them, not at all. My eyes were locked on Draco and my stomach couldn't stop flipping—nerves, excitement, how beautiful Draco looked. It was too much. I stepped onto the platform and Draco took my hands._

_Time jumped, and then we were kissing, Draco bending me backwards into a traditional, clichéd kiss, and it was wonderful, his lips so soft and his tongue full of sparks and this was it, our first kiss as a married couple, and I would remember it forever._

_A quick apparation to our honeymoon, wherever that was, I was too busy with Draco's lips and hands and his hardness pressing against my own to notice my surroundings. It was over far too quickly, both of us high off our wedding and the idea of being bound together forever._

Harry's hips were stuttering, jerking up, and he was panting as well as moaning, hand pumping almost desperately, needing the release. His heart was aching, holding him back. He needed physical contact, needed Draco at his side, needed him to tell him again how they were forever and nothing would come between them.

It had never been like this before, either by himself or with Draco. He had focused on the sex, on the acts themselves, not spinning out stories about anything so unreasonable as a wedding. But he hadn't ever been this aroused by himself, either. Certainly Draco had taken him to heights far beyond what he ever imagined possible, but this mix of intense pleasure and penetrating fantasy brought something entirely new.

"Draco," he gasped, tightening his grasp. "Draco, Dray, Merlin, Dray—"

_Coming home after a long day of paperwork, Draco waiting for me. Dinner was already on the table, protected with a warming charm, and a single candle flickered in the middle of the table. We held hands as I told him about my day, recounting ever boring detail, and Draco told me about lunch with the Greengrasses, and a party we had been invited to next month. I hated parties, but it was always worth it to see Draco dressed up. Not to mention the thank-you sex that followed._

_Our first house together. Not a flat but an actual house, bought and paid for. A huge parcel of land with a forest and a river running through it. The house somewhere between a cottage and a mansion, a compromise we hadn't expected to find. Draco carried me over the threshold. Mind-blowing sex to celebrate our first night together._

Since when had he gotten so domestic? He should be thinking of Draco's arse, how tight he was, the noises he made when they made love, and yes, that was wonderful, but it didn't satisfy that ache, the need for something more.

_Jumping back to when Draco first proposed. We shared a home-cooked meal, snuggled in front of the fireplace, and then Draco slipped down to the floor and I assumed it was the beginning of something sexual. Then I noticed Dray was on one knee, not two, and he wasn't moving between my legs. Instead he took out a small box and I heart stopped—_his heart did stop, for a second, and then kicked into overdrive—_and Draco locked eyes with me and I didn't hear the words, only slipped to the floor myself, wrapping my arms around Draco, whispering yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes, always, forever._

"Yes," Harry gasped, so close, on the edge, needing something more, needing something to push him over. "Yes, Draco, yes, please, yes, forever, yes."

_The feel of the ring on my finger, slightly heavy, feeling foreign but so welcome. It was delicious. The constant reminder of our engagement, of Draco's love, of the rest of forever. We told Ron and Hermione first, and even Ron was happy for us. Then my colleagues at work; Aurors were trained to notice everything, and a ring certainly wouldn't escape their eyes. More congratulations. Draco and I hosted a celebratory party, disappearing partway through for another round of I-can't-believe-this-is-forever sex._

_Back to Draco in the white suit, Draco watching me as I walked towards him, Draco looking at me like I was the only person in a room full of hundreds, Draco completely open and showing the staggering amount of love he felt. Ron had my ring and Luna had Draco's and that didn't matter because the way Draco was looking at me, that was far more than two bits of metal._

Harry closed his eyes tighter, vaguely aware that Draco was watching him and unable to look at him while he was like this. He would give far too much away; he couldn't hide what he was thinking, not when he was like this.

"Draco," he choked out. "Dray, I love you, please—"

And then Draco's lips were on his and Harry grabbed the back of his neck with his free hand, anchoring them together. He couldn't let go, couldn't dream of Draco ever stopping. His lips were so soft and supple, and his tongue gentle but insistent, claiming his mouth, and Harry knew he should probably focus on actually kissing, rather than just gasping with need beneath Draco but he couldn't, couldn't do anything. He was slipping back and forth between his fantasy and real life; Draco's kiss was their wedding kiss, their engagement kiss, and their inaugural kiss at that cottage in the countryside. Draco's kiss was here and now and real, so very, very real, and that was so much better.

Draco's hand knocked his away, and with a few quick, well-practiced strokes, Harry was gone. He moaned continuously, vaguely aware that he was saying something, no idea what it was. Draco continued their kiss, kept stroking him until he was entirely spent. He uttered a wandless cleaning charm before curling against Harry, head on his chest, arm wrapped possessively around him, holding tighter than he usually did, legs wrapped together. He was naked, Harry had no idea when that had happened, and was very, very hard. But he seemed unconcerned with his own needs and just kept holding Harry, burying his face in his chest.

Harry stroked his back, amazed and a little ashamed of himself. That was not what he was supposed to think about while wanking. Not even close. It was embarrassing and humiliating and, at the very least, he should have been the one proposing, the one waiting at the altar as Draco walked down the aisle. Since when he did he put himself in the feminine role? He topped, he slid into Draco, he ordered him around.

Harry shook himself. It was just a fantasy. It had gotten away from him, that was all. An idea had planted itself in his mind and refused to be shaken free. Merlin knew it had happened before; that was how he ended up wanking to Draco before, way back in sixth year. A single stubborn image that wouldn't leave, nothing more.

"Did you mean it?" Draco asked quietly.

Harry stiffened. He ran over the things he had said—Draco's name, a lot of yeses, a stray I love you. He meant all of that, but that was hardly news. He must have said something when he came, something he hadn't meant to and didn't know what it was.

"I—" He stuttered. "I'm not sure. What, exactly, did I say?"

"A lot," Draco replied. "Forever. How good I'd look in a white tux. A cottage in the countryside." He paused. "I'm pretty sure you proposed to me."

Harry flushed and closed his eyes again. He had? That was certainly unintentional. The proposal, that was Draco's job, not—

Harry jerked. It wasn't _anybody's_ job, not now, not yet. If there was a part of him that wanted Draco to be the one to ask, that was fine, whatever. Draco had been the one to bring it up in the first place, back in Switzerland. Well, sort of. He had made that jealous face at the Burrow, and Harry had pushed him. Was he—Harry had thought Draco instigated everything, that Draco was in charge of this part of their relationship, but maybe he was wrong. He _had_ pressed the issue, after all. He had just come thinking about it. Maybe—maybe things weren't—

He broke off the thought. He didn't know what things were or weren't. It didn't matter. This was not that, it was just a wank gone astray. It happened to everyone. Sometimes you just got distracted, that was all, and someone, or in this case, some_thing_, crept in and wouldn't leave. It didn't mean anything.

"Harry?" Draco asked quietly. "I didn't mean—I mean, if you didn't—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. Forget it."

"No," Harry said, words spilling out before he could stop them. "I don't remember what I said, but yeah, I do want to marry you, one day. I told you that in Switzerland. Not now, I don't want to be engaged yet, and I expect you to do something a lot more romantic that accidentally letting it slip in the middle of sex." It _was_ like in Switzerland; he felt tipsy, though he hadn't been drinking. He blamed it on a lack of sleep and stress, rather than the fuzzy butterflies whirling around his stomach. "We've already—nothing's changed, right?"

"Yeah," Draco said, sounding far away. "Yeah, of course."

Harry cursed himself. This was supposed to have been light and fun, Draco collecting his winnings. Instead Harry had gone and done—done _something_, and something had changed, and he couldn't tell what. He was perilously close to tears and hated himself for it. Couldn't he just have a good wank without it turning into something this difficult and stressful? It wasn't fair; everything in his life was so complicated, the last thing he needed was for that to spill over into his love life.

"I love you," Harry said firmly. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes." _Brilliant_, he thought angrily. _Sound like a bloody girl. A _pathetic _girl at that. Exactly the right way to handle the situation_.

Draco looked up at him and smiled. "Harry, I love you too. It's fine; we're fine, really. It was just—disarming, to hear you say that." He moved up for a kiss. "You look exhausted, love. You need to sleep."

"What about you?" Harry asked, though as soon as Draco had spoken, his eyelids started to droop and the weight of the day crashed down on him. He reached down, lightly stroking Draco, who close his eyes and sighed, pushing into the touch. "You need—"

"I'm fine," Draco said again. "Though I think I may go take a shower before bed."

Harry grabbed his wrist. "No," he said firmly. "Stay with me. I'll get you off; in fact, I'd _love_ to. I'll take a nap tomorrow during lunch, it'll be fine."

Draco contemplated. "That is not a responsible decision."

Harry's eyes sparkled. "Since when have we been responsible?" He wrapped his hand around Draco, stroking gently. "Tell me you don't want this."

Draco moaned quietly. "You're worn out enough without—"

"Sex," Harry interrupted. "I need sex. Sex to relax." Draco's hips were moving in time to his strokes, and Harry thought it wouldn't be long at all.

"Mm," Draco sighed. "Just—_ohh_—make it quick. I won't be the one responsible for the…the bags under your eyes."

"I can manage that." Harry wordlessly summoned something and then moved down, replacing his hand with his mouth. Draco groaned, and Harry ran a finger down his cleft before spreading his cheeks. "Relax," he said, pulling back just long enough to talk. "If you want it quick, I won't bother to get you ready."

Draco nodded fervently. "Yeah. Go. I'm good."

Harry took him back into his mouth and slowly slid the Christmas tree inside. This was why they kept it around; aside from sentimental value, it came in use when they didn't have time for something more. Draco pushed back against him, and Harry waited until he begged before turning the toy on. Draco shrieked when he did and Harry quickly angled it up against his prostate, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked as hard as he could, and Draco came, fingers twined in Harry's hair, hips jerking uncontrollably, Harry swallowing expertly. Harry gently withdrew the toy, turned it off and tossed it into a corner, too tired to put it away properly. Draco was still panting and shaking, and Harry gathered him in his arms, spooning.

"Say it again?" Draco asked sleepily, pushing further against Harry.

"What?" Harry asked. He was pretty certain the last thing he said had to do with the vibrator. Hardly romantic.

"Tell me you love me," Draco said quietly. "Forever."

Harry kissed the spot just below his ear. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you forever. And you—_we—_will know when it's right, to ask."

"Now go to sleep," Draco said firmly, as if he hadn't melted into Harry's arms at his words. "You need it."

Harry kissed that spot again. "G'night, love." He almost thought he wouldn't be able to sleep, that the images from his fantasy would be too strong, that his exclamation he hadn't meant for now would leave him reeling and unable to relax. But no matter how much his brain was focused on Draco, his body was all too aware of what he'd been putting it through, and he was asleep moments later.


	57. Chapter 57: Visits From the Whisps

**A/N:** And here you go! The last March installment!

I'd like to give a shout out to a few reviewers in particular; yesterday was an exceptionally hard day, today is shaping up to be worse, and these reviews were pretty much the only light in my day: **nannily, FiftyShadesOfMakeup, tragicpoet54, HufflepuffWitch, Guest Tori and MirrorFlower and DarkWind.** I am forever indebted to every single one of you. On a related note, I owe at least two of you emails (hi, Emily and Stephanie) and I promise I haven't forgotten, I've just been so overwhelmed and miserable, I didn't want to reply when I'm this bad off. Stephanie especially, I'm not going to beta while crying, that's not good for either of us.

There's barely a warning for this guy at all; they talk about sex, but there's nothing graphic in the slightest. I think you've all gotten used to the mention of sex by now :P

Oh, and for any Stephen King buffs out there: keep an eye out next chapter. I just rewatched the movie before writing it, and certain elements may have sneaked in. Nothing particularly noticeable, but it's my all-time favorite book (aside from HP and Winnie-the-Pooh), and if there are any other hardcore readers out there, they're in for a giggle or two.

**Chapter Fifty-Seven:**

_**Visits from the Whisps**_

An owl woke Harry, but at least it wasn't the middle of the night. He untied the note as he checked the time—quarter after seven. He should be getting up now anyway. He disentangled himself from Draco, put on his glasses and unfolded the parchment.

_Harry—_

_Mathilda woke up late last night, and the boils have started to recede, only needing to be drained every six hours or so. The Healers are keeping her in hospital until they've completely dissipated, but her prognosis is very good. She's quite tired, and isn't entirely coherent while she is awake, but she knows who I am, who our daughters are, where she is and why. It's just the details that are fuzzy—how long she's been there, what she had for breakfast, that sort of thing. The Healers have assured us both that it's normal and nothing to be concerned about, and it's almost easy to believe them._

_We are all so grateful to you, Harry. Last letter I told you Winnie was inconsolable; she has calmed since—seeing Mathilda awake did wonders for all of us—and, for the first time, my family inquired as to my classes. I was out of work for quite a while before being hired at Hogwarts, and as young as my daughters are, they know how important it is for me to keep my post. They got very excited when they heard _Harry Potter_ was taking over, and, well, I think you can tell what happens when they get excited. Both Winnie and Eirinn got swept up, and I promise I'd include their drawing with my note._

_As for my return to Hogwarts, I still cannot give you an exact date, but with any luck, I'll be back by Monday. And Harry, if you need any help, please don't hesitate to ask. I know owling can be slow, especially on days when you haven't got time for lunch (sorry about that, by the way), and Minerva and I have agreed that you may Floo to St. Mungo's any time you need to. Your bedroom fireplace should be converted by the time you read this, and Minerva will give you a small bag of Floo powder at breakfast this morning._

_Best of luck,_

_Amelia_

Harry picked up the other piece of parchment. It was a drawing of him in a classroom, pointing at something on what he thought was probably meant to be a chalkboard. His scar took up half his face, but the proportions of everything were right, leading Harry to think both girls had contributed. He found he had a lump in his throat. At the bottom was a note in what must have been the older daughter's writing, given how neat it was: _Harry Potter, Thank you for Helping. Love, Eirinn and Winnie_.Maybe, _maybe_, teaching wasn't the worst thing ever. _Maybe_.

The alarm burst into life, screaming like a foghorn with a megaphone, and Harry quickly silenced it with his wand. Draco groaned and rolled over, an expression of confusion covering his face when he realized Harry wasn't lying down.

"What's that?" he asked, picking up the parchment Harry wasn't holding.

"Letter from Whisp," he replied, putting the picture in his drawer before Draco could see. "She thinks she might be back by Monday."

"Mmm, that's good," Draco said. He stretched, and sat up. "Do you get lunch today?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Every day but Tuesday and Wednesday. And no one our year. Today should actually be fairly reasonable."

Draco smiled sleepily. "See? You're getting the hang of it."

"Yeah, when I haven't got double fifth years," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Come on, I'm starved. Breakfast."

It was only his third day, but Harry felt like he was starting to fall into the rhythm. Morning classes, lunch break, afternoon classes, homework, reviewing lesson plans, grading. He did have his own class tomorrow, but he felt prepared on the subject matter, and Hermione taught him a few higher-level healing spells and gave him a vial of Dittany, just in case. The other classes were easy enough—more Pixies, and dark creatures, specifically Grindylows. He knew Grindylows. Yeah, two classes in a row involving animals was a little intimidating, but he felt Hagrid had, however accidentally, prepared him very well for the task. It wasn't as if he was covering dragons, or Acromantulas. He even got to bed before midnight, though Draco kept him up far later than that.

Friday seemed to fly by, despite starting with his own double Defense class. They practiced dueling without wands, using only the simplest of curses; in a flash of brilliance, Harry had them doing the Curse of the Bogies, very mindful of how wrong curses could go. Protection spells shimmered in and out of existence, and more than one student got hit with the curse. Harry performed the counter-curse with ease and, by the end of the lesson, nearly everyone had improved significantly. He assigned real homework this time, an essay on the practical uses of wandless magic, as well as continued practice for Wednesday, where he hinted they'd continue with dueling using curses beyond what first years were learning. He hated himself for assigning an essay he'd have to do as well, wondering how he'd grade his own paper, but Whisp's instructions had been clear, and he wasn't going to deviate from them. The rest of the day was easy enough, and he met Draco on the way to their room.

"It's Friday," Harry announced cheerfully.

"Indeed." Draco had just come from Arithmancy, and it was very hard to get him into a good mood after that particular class.

"No classes tomorrow," Harry sighed. "Or the day after. Think I might get all my work done tomorrow and take Sunday off entirely; maybe a trip to Hogsmeade? Or at least some Quidditch?"

"Hmfph," Draco replied, digging through his school bag. He pulled out a giant piece of parchment, unfolding it until it blocked the entire hallway. Numbers flew across in seemingly random patterns, and each square was labeled with tiny writing Harry couldn't read at all. "I've got all this," Draco snapped. "Not to mention everything else. Bloody Arithmancy."

Harry magicked the paper back into Draco's bag and held his hand. "You can do it. Blimey, Dray, if I can teach _and_ take my own classes at the same time, you can certainly get through a single class."

Draco frowned. "Stop saying that," he said. "You keep using it as excuse to get whatever you want. 'I've been teaching all day, I _need_ a massage'. 'I've got a hundred papers to grade, surely you can go down to the kitchens to get me dinner'. 'I'm so much busier than everyone else and still getting good grades, I'm just about the cleverest student that's ever graced the halls of Hogwarts'."

"Oh, hush," Harry said with a smile. "The massage was your idea."

"Hmfph."

Harry grabbed his arm and wheeled him around, despite the fact that they were halfway down the hallway to their room. "Come on. Quidditch. I'll even let you win, if you'll stop pouting."

Draco rolled his eyes. "A hollow victory," he said. "Wouldn't you rather spend a few hours in bed? Not that the handjob the other night wasn't brilliant, but I could use something a bit more substantial."

Harry grinned. "That's good, too."

Saturday started very suddenly, with a loud rushing, the flames in the fireplace swirling up and turning a blazing green, and Professor Whisp stepped into their bedroom. Harry and Draco quickly jerked apart and pulled up the blankets, naked and spooning as they were.

"Sorry not to give you more notice," Whisp said. "My owl is off sending an update to my parents, and I wanted to check in with you. Shall I wait in the other room while you get ready?"

"Um," Harry said blankly. "Yes?"

"Again, sorry for bursting in," she said, walking to the door. "You boys do know it's eleven, yes? I assumed you'd be awake by now."

Harry glanced at the clock. "It's been a stressful week?" Talking to a professor, while naked, in bed, was a very, very strange experience. "Catching up on sleep? I haven't gotten much, what with homework and preparing for lessons and grading essays and stuff."

Whisp's eyebrows shot up. "We certainly do have some things to discuss, then. I'll be in the living room." She left, closing the door behind herself.

"Merlin," Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "That's certainly one way to wake up."

"Yeah," Harry replied, getting out of bed. "Come on, we should get dressed. I guess you can stay in bed and get some more sleep if you want; she's just here for me."

"No, I should get up, too," Draco said. "I'm rather fond of your idea of getting homework out of the way today, and that certainly won't happen if I sleep all day."

Harry dressed quickly in Muggle clothes and padded out to the living room, making sure to keep Draco behind the closed door. Whisp was standing by the window, looking at their view.

Harry cleared his throat. "Professor?"

Whisp turned around. "You've got a lovely view, Harry. And please, as long as this nonsense is going on, you might as well call me Amelia."

"Er," Harry said. "Right. How's Mathilda doing?"

"Better every day," Whisp—Amelia, Harry reminded himself—replied. "She's being kept through the weekend and then released into my care. I'll have to stay with her for a few days, so I'm afraid I can't come back on Monday. Wednesday, maybe?"

"Okay," Harry said. "That's fine. I've kind of got the hang of it."

Amelia smiled. "You would, wouldn't you? Tell me again what you said earlier—you've been grading papers? And continuing with your own lessons?"

"Well, um, Hermione pointed out I probably should," Harry said. "Because of N.E.W.T.s and not falling behind and stuff. Since we don't know when you'll be back. The last thing I need is to end up with weeks of catching up to do."

"It won't be weeks, I can promise that," she said. "While I suppose that's a wise decision, it's also quite an undertaking, especially on top of essays. I said you didn't need to worry about that before I left, didn't I? That you don't need to assign homework?"

Harry gaped at her. "No," he said, a bit peeved. "No, you didn't."

She averted her eyes for a moment before looking back at him. "I was very concerned," Amelia said. "Though that's no excuse to impart such a burden on you. Harry, I'm truly sorry. I didn't even leave you with essay topics."

"It's fine," he said uncomfortably. "I've been figuring it out. Topics aren't that hard, not after a full class. First years are, um—" He wracked his brain, trying to remember. "Curse of the Bogies. I forgot first class, but the second have a paper on—"

"It's alright, you needn't detail it to me," she replied. "How's the seventh-and-eighth years going? Are you handling it okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's not bad. I've done wandless magic before, a bit, and I remember the basic. I'm loads better now, I don't think I've touched my wand since Wednesday."

Amelia grinned at him. "Very impressive. And very practical. I heard you spent much of last year without your holly wand; imagine how much simpler your life would have been had you not needed one at all."

That hadn't occurred to him. "Oh, yeah. I'd used Hermione's and Draco's, once I disarmed him, which was…well…"

"Far from ideal," she supplied. "Had any accidents?"

"Not mostly," Harry said. "Nothing I haven't been able to fix myself. No trips to the infirmary."

"Excellent." She looked over Harry's shoulder. "Good morning, Draco."

Harry turned around. Draco raised a hand in acknowledgement, still mostly asleep. "You've—" he started, then cut himself off. "Never mind. I'm glad to hear your wife is doing better."

"Thank you," she replied. "I'll be out of your hair shortly, not to worry." Amelia turned back to Harry. "Would you like to go over next week's lesson plan with me? Would that be helpful?"

Harry wanted to hug her. "Yes," he said. Then, realizing how eager he sounded, added, "If you have time."

"Some," she said. "The kids are with my brother, and Mathilda isn't coming home until one last check from the Healers."

"If you're sure," Harry said. He grabbed the schedule and the scrolls she had left him. They were neatly organized in a divided box Hermione had made for him, sorted by year. They sat on the couch and went over the lessons, most of which Harry didn't find too difficult. He told Amelia about his progress with his own year, which was most pressing, and they moved on from there. Draco collapsed in a chair and started on homework, Harry sparing him a jealous glare. He was the one who had suggested spending Saturday doing homework, he ought to be able to take advantage of it. But he turned his attention back to Amelia and finished going over the schedule.

"You can handle the rest from here, I think," Amelia said about ten minutes later. "You're really doing brilliantly, Harry. I haven't had a chance to talk to Minerva yet, but you will be rewarded."

Harry flushed. "Thanks," he said.

"Anything else you need?" she asked, walking back to the bedroom fireplace, Harry at her heels.

"Yeah, how do you eat Tuesday and Wednesday?"

She laughed a little. "I don't. Big breakfast, big dinner, and a lot of coffee."

Harry sighed. "Brilliant." He shuffled his feet. "Send my regards to Mathilda. Oh, and thank Winnie and Eirinn for the drawing." He flushed. "It was great."

"I'll be sure to pass it along."

They stood awkwardly for a moment. They were sort of colleagues and sort of still student and teacher, and neither seemed exactly sure on how to proceed. Eventually Amelia squeezed Harry's shoulder and repeated her thank you, and Harry mumbled that it was nothing. Then she stepped into the fireplace with a handful of Floo powder and vanished.

Harry returned to the living room and collapsed on the couch. "That wasn't stressful at all," he said, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"At least you've got all your preparing out of the way," Draco said, not looking up from his paper. "That's like, what, half your workload?"

Harry let his arm fall. "Oh. Yeah, that's true." He sat up. "Brilliant! Though I've still got papers to grade, and papers to write. Including my own. Goddamned that Defense professor."

Draco made a final flourish and set his quill down. "Don't worry, I just finished it. It's not that hard."

"I suppose it's not ethical for me to copy your essay, hand it in to myself, and give myself an A?" Harry asked. "I forgot to ask Amelia about grading my own paper, so technically…"

"No," Draco said, stuffing his paper in his bag. "Write your own. You can get away with anything. Stop complaining."

Harry sighed. "Fine. But lunch first."

Harry and Draco both managed to finish their homework Saturday, even if Harry had to stay up until one to finish grading essays. Sunday was spent playing Quidditch, chess, reading for fun, which Harry was kind of awed at, but mostly making fun of their friends for still having work to do and then, after kicking everyone out, a lot of sex. Part of it was Harry's winnings from Quidditch—any sexual favor he'd like—but mostly it was just fun, hot, absolutely needed, angst-free sex. Harry and Draco collapsed after—what was it, three rounds? Four? Both were gasping and shaking, and Draco snuggled against Harry in his customary way.

"Harry?" Draco asked, once his breathing had slowed.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Give me a minute, I'm not ready yet for—"

"No, not that," Draco interrupted. "Would you talk to McGonagall tonight? It's a month until Easter, and I think asking far in advance would be to our benefit. I know Snape let me go home last year, but he was under orders from Voldemort, and—"

"Stop, I don't want to hear about last Easter," Harry said. "What time is it? I don't want to wake her up in the middle of the night."

Draco laughed. "It's only eight. Time flies when you're having fun, eh?" He put a hand on Harry, who knocked it away.

"I'm definitely not talking to her with a hard-on," Harry said. He sighed dramatically. "That means I've got to get dressed, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you do," Draco said languidly. "I, however, will remain unclothed and in bed."

Harry glared at him. "I'm asking for you. The least you can do is come with me."

"No," Draco replied. "The least I can do for you is get ready for mind-blowing sex as a reward."

Harry considered. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll go." He pulled himself out of bed, dressed in his Gryffindor robes, hoping they'd look more professional than Muggle clothes, and dragged himself down to the third floor. He approached the gargoyle nervously, not sure how to go about entering. "Er, Professor Potter?" he tried.

The gargoyle shifted slightly and opened his mouth. "I will relay your appearance to the Headmistress." He didn't move or speak, and Harry wondered exactly what he was doing to, as he put it, relay the information. He forced himself to stay still, not wanting to fidget or betray any nervousness to the statue. After what seemed like ages, the gargoyle spoke. "You may enter." He moved to the side, and Harry ascended the stairs nervously. He knocked on the door and was invited inside.

Harry opened the door nervously and slid inside, closing the door behind himself and staying next to it, in case of sudden retreat.

"Good evening, Professor Potter," McGonagall said, and Harry could've sworn he saw a small smile at how she chose to address him. "What can I do for you?"

"I've got a question about Easter," Harry said, and McGonagall's eyebrows rose. Presumably she thought he was going to ask something about teaching, which certainly would have made more sense. "Draco and I, we're planning on moving to London together after school, and we were hoping you'd grant us permission to leave Hogwarts on Easter weekend to look at flats?"

She considered for a moment. "That could be arranged, I think," she said. This was all going much smoother than Harry had expected, and it was more unnerving than if he had to debate with her. "Were you planning on apparating out of Hogsmeade, or adding your fireplace to the Floo network again?"

Harry hadn't considered this. "Well, um, I suppose it'd be easier to leave from our room," he said. "But if adding to the network is too hard, Draco and I wouldn't mind leaving from Hogsmeade. That'd be fine."

"No, it's not difficult," she said. "When would you be leaving and returning?"

"Er," Harry said. "I'm not—I'd have to ask Draco. Probably Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon? We've got lunches with review boards both days, and we'll probably want to look at the flats, so maybe more like Sunday evening?"

"Well, Harry, I suggest you get your request in shape and get back to me," McGonagall replied. "Short of an emergency, such as Amelia's family, it is advisable to contact the Floo registry in advance."

"Sure," Harry said. He stayed silent, staring vacantly but not leaving, and McGonagall looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked.

Harry considered how honest to be. "I sort of thought you might be a little harder to convince?"

She smiled at him. "Harry, for the moment you are a professor, and as such, you collect certain privileges. I certainly hope Amelia will return to us by Easter, but I think a continued respect is due."

"Oh," Harry said. "Thank you."

"Not at all," McGonagall replied. "Any further questions?"

"No, that's it," Harry said. "Thanks again." He backed out of the door and stepped onto the staircase. That was certainly easier than he expected. He might have gotten used to the teaching part of being a professor, at least somewhat, but the bonuses hadn't occurred to him. He briefly wondered if there was anything else he ought to be aware of before deciding not to push his luck. He passed by the sphinx with no problems and returned to the bedroom.

"Well?" Draco asked as Harry removed his robes. "What did she say?"

"Floo network," Harry replied. "In our room. I just need to give her the times."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "That simple?"

"Apparently, since I'm a professor, I've got special privileges," Harry said, getting back in bed. "And she's extending them to Easter."

"Huh," Draco said. "That's good."

"Yeah." Harry lay on his back and stared at the top of the canopy for a moment before turning to Draco. "So, did you get ready for me, as promised?"

Draco smirked. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Harry received several updates from Amelia throughout the week. Mathilda was slowly recovering, and Amelia had once again set the following Monday as a potentially likely return date. Despite how stressful his first few days had been, Harry really had adapted to his new schedule, as hectic as it was. Tuesday and Wednesday were still rather unpleasant, what with missing lunch and surviving entirely on coffee and really, really quick bathroom breaks between classes, but the rest of his days weren't that bad. There was a nasty moment Wednesday afternoon in his own Defense class where Draco nearly exploded Neville's left foot, said foot saved only by a quick spell from Hermione, and Harry decided any further potentially dangerous dueling would be saved for Friday morning, when he hadn't spent all day in class without lunch.

Amelia arrived via Floo Friday night. Harry and Draco nearly missed her—they had only just returned from dinner, having lingered outside the Great Hall talking with friends. Harry nearly had a heart attack when he heard movement in the bedroom, and both he and Draco nearly cursed the person who appeared in the doorway.

"Wait!" Harry yelled, knocking Draco's arm down. The person in the doorway was a young girl with familiar wavy, chestnut hair. "Are you Winnie?"

She smiled anxiously, half-hiding behind the door, and nodded. Amelia appeared behind her, another young girl on one side and a woman roughly her age on her other.

"Sorry for the sudden intrusion," Amelia said. "I wanted to tell you I'll be back in class on Monday and to collect any essays needing grading to go over myself. Mathilda wanted to come to thank you, and then Winnie, and Eirinn, and…" She trailed off, gesturing at her family. "I hope you don't mind."

"Oh," Harry said, tucking his wand away. "No, it's fine. You're coming back?"

Amelia laughed. "Yes, Harry, you are hereby relieved of your teaching duties. I assume you'd like to take me up on my offer of grading papers?"

"Er, yeah, sure," Harry stammered. "If you're sure you've got the time."

"I am a professor, Harry," she said with a small smile. "It is my job."

"Right." He collected the scrolls and Amelia magicked them into her shoulder bag.

"I wanted to thank you in person," the other witch said. She had a slight German accent, honey-colored hair and blue eyes. Harry noted there were faded purple circles on her face he would have missed had he not been looking for them. "You have done a wonderful thing."

Harry flushed. "It's fine," he mumbled.

"Here," the older girl, Eirinn said, holding out a box. Eirinn had Mathilda's blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair split into two long braids hanging over each shoulder. "We made you brownies."

Harry's blush darkened. "Thanks," he said, taking the package. "That's really sweet."

Winnie burst into giggles. "Brownies are sweet."

Harry winced. The pun had been entirely unintentional. "Er, yeah."

"They are my grandmother's recipe," Mathilda said. "Very good."

"We really appreciate it," Draco said. "It's very thoughtful."

"It was nothing," Mathilda replied. "I have a great love of cooking, and being able to return to such normal activities was a great enjoyment."

"Anyway, we'll let you get back to your night," Amelia said. "And Harry, remember: if you refer to me as anything other than Professor Whisp, it'll be five points from Gryffindor."

Harry smiled. "Yes, Professor."

"Good. See you Wednesday, then." Whisp herded her family back into the bedroom and vanished into the fireplace.

Harry continued to stare at the place where the family had been standing. "That was unexpected."

"Unexpected and delicious," Draco said, taking the package from Harry and opening it. "Mmm," he moaned. "Harry, have a brownie. These are incredible."

"I haven't got essays to grade," Harry said, still staring at the doorway. "Or lessons to learn. Just homework."

"Yes, it's very exciting," Draco said. "Have a brownie to celebrate."

"I'll be going back to my classes," Harry said. "And I won't be teaching them."

"That's very true," Draco replied. "Like I said, have a brownie to celebrate." Harry finally took one. "Good, aren't they? Almost as good as Mother's baking."

"Yeah," Harry said. He let Draco lead him over to the couch where they sat, eating brownies. "Dray, I think I might have free time," Harry said after his second brownie. "I think I'm free."

Draco smiled. There was chocolate on his lips, and Harry realized he had time to lick it off as slowly as he wanted to. No more rushed sex, no quickies before collapsing, exhausted. Real sex, actual sex, with foreplay and everything. Harry twitched in anticipation. "You most certainly are. What do you care to do with your spare time?"

Harry put the box on the table and slid over to Draco. He cupped his face in his hands and gently licked Draco's lips, removing all traces of chocolate. Draco hummed contentedly and Harry moved onto his mouth, cleaning his tongue, teeth and the roof of his mouth. Draco was whimpering by the time he pulled away.

"I'll give you three guesses," Harry said. Draco responded by resting a hand on Harry's groin, and Harry sighed. "You're doing all the work," Harry added. "I've earned it. I'm jut going to lie there while you pleasure me."

"I think I can handle that."


	58. Chapter 58: Easter Weekend, Without the

**A/N:** Whoosh! No political opinions here, that's bull, but I hope my fellow US citizens of age voted. I just got back from doing so myself, for the very first time, even, and I feel a little better about this election. Sort of.

Anyway, enough of that. This is the chapter for all you Stephen King buffs. Keep an eye out; _The Shining_ is in here, in a couple places. I just couldn't help myself :P

For the ones of you who wished me feeling better, thank you dearly. I did, in fact, rally some yesterday, due to a f*ckton of X-Files episodes, Taylor Swift all the way, and working on my ridiculous, self-insertion MythBusters fanfic that's entire purpose is to make me smile and nothing else (it rises to the occasion beautifully). And, of course, due to all of the wonderful reviews! You are all the best ever :D

**Chapter Fifty-Eight:**

_**Easter Weekend, Without the Easter**_

A week later Harry was summoned to McGonagall's office. His brilliant mode far outweighed the nervousness; after the incredible workload he'd had while teaching, his mere classwork was nothing. It was picking up for N.E.W.T.s but even that didn't slow him down; he had become an absolute master at time management and getting his work done, and Harry was the one finishing his homework first, every day, every time. This greatly annoyed his friends, especially Ron and Draco, and caused a lecture from Hermione who didn't believe his work was up to par, but suddenly Harry had free evenings and time to relax, and even a summons from the Headmistress couldn't bring him down.

Nerves only started to hit when he approached the gargoyle; what, exactly, did McGonagall want from him? He was caught up with his classes, his grades hadn't slipped, and there had been no incidents either while he was teaching, or in the week following.

"Harry Potter," he said, addressing the gargoyle. "Headmistress McGonagall summoned me?"

"Go ahead," the gargoyle said, stepping to the side.

Harry ascended the stairs, fidgeting nervously. He had sent her the official times and dates for Easter weekend; had she not received them? He wracked his brain, trying to think of anything he could have done wrong. He knocked nervously on her door and was called inside.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry said nervously, sitting in one of the chairs in front of her desk. "I got your note."

She nodded curtly. "I assumed as much, Mr. Potter, otherwise you would not be here."

Harry flushed. "Er, right."

"You can stop looking so nervous," she said. "You are here to receive good news, and nothing else."

Harry's stomach calmed. "Oh?"

"Amelia and I have been discussing payment for your services to the school," McGonagall continued. "Gryffindor has been awarded one hundred and fifty points, bringing you up to second place in the race for house cup." She paused for a brief smile. "I am very pleased to see that. We have acquired quite a run, and I'd hate to see it broken."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said.

"As for your personal reward, it has been determined it would be only fair to pay you the same as any other professor. One hundred and seventy five Galleons have been sent to your vault at Gringotts."

Harry blinked. "Oh," he said. "Thank you."

"In addition," McGonagall continued, "as dictated by Amelia, we would like to ask you if there is anything in particular you would like."

"Um…" Harry trailed off. "No?"

"Amelia was quite insistent," she said. "A thank-you gift from Hogwarts."

Harry sat silently, thinking. He supposed he couldn't ask to be awarded N.E.W.T.s without taking them, or be excused from classes for the rest of the year. He seriously considered asking if Neville could be reinstated to House Boy, but it was so close to the end of the year, and he and Ron had worked out a system that worked just as well as when it had been Neville alone. Being an eighth year came with enough perks as it was, as well as living with Draco. He was coming up blank.

"Really, Professor, I'm fine," Harry said. "It's very kind of you to offer, but the house points are enough of a reward. I would have done it as nothing more than a favor, never mind the points, or the salary."

McGonagall smiled again. "Mr. Potter, you are truly an extraordinary student. We shall leave it as a favor as yet to be determined then, shall we?"

"Sure," Harry said, a bit baffled.

"Very well," she said. "You may return to your Saturday afternoon."

Harry stood awkwardly. "Thanks again," he said. "And please tell Amelia—er, Professor Whisp—that she doesn't have to do anything? I was happy to help."

"I will pass the message along."

Harry returned to his room and looked at his homework. Having Defense homework he hadn't assigned himself was both refreshing and, rather obviously, frustrating. He'd already finished Muggle Studies, though, leaving him with only Defense and History of Magic. He and Draco had gotten in the habit of finishing, or at least attempting to finish, homework on Saturday. The warmer the weather got the more Hogsmeade called, and when the temperature dropped, they were quite used to cuddling in front of the fireplace.

Draco looked up from his chart. "What did McGonagall want?"

"Payment for my teaching," Harry said. "A hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor, and a hundred and seventy-five Galleons of salary. Plus a miscellaneous favor to be used at any given point."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "That's quite a reward. Any idea what you're going to ask for?"

"If I did, I would've asked already," Harry said. "Come on, let's get back to work."

"No, no," Draco said, leaning back. "You can ask for anything you can possibly think of. This requires a great deal of concentration."

"Not as much as Defense," Harry said. "Whisp is making up for being out, and this essay is ridiculous. Seriously, it's like something Dean and Seamus thought up at three in the morning."

"Harry, really, stop complaining about your homework," Draco said. "Especially for Defense, you can get away with anything. I want to talk about this favor."

Harry sighed. Once Draco had an idea in his head, there was no distracting him. He leaned back as well, looking at his boyfriend. "I already tried to think of something," Harry said. "I haven't got any ideas."

"Get us removed from curfew?" Draco suggested. "Weekday Hogsmeade visits?"

"We haven't got time for either of those," Harry said. "Not with N.E.W.T.s coming up."

Draco's eyes widened. "Ask to be excused from—"

Harry shook his head. "The whole point of redoing this year is to take the N.E.W.T.s. I'm not backing out now."

"A never-ending excuse from class?" Draco suggested.

"I already know how hard it is to make up missed days," Harry said. "I'm not eager to do it on purpose."

Draco sighed. "You're no fun at all. Nor are you making this easy. You're wasting valuable homework time, which translates to very valuable sex time."

"Then let it go," Harry said, returning to his homework. "I've got three months to think of something. And if I don't, that's fine too. It doesn't matter."

Draco sighed again. "You're such a bloody Gryffindor. Fine, I'll let it go. But we _are_ collecting before the end of the school year."

Harry noticed it had turned from his favor to _their_ favor, but ignored the phrasing and kept his eyes on his homework.

By Easter weekend, the last thing Harry wanted to do was leave campus. He had a _huge _pile of homework consisting of equal parts essays and new spells to learn. Spending the entire weekend away from the castle was no way to get the work done. They had agreed to stay at Grimmauld Place while they searched, so Harry had Mrs. Black's portrait to look forward to, perhaps Kreacher as well, depending on his definition of holidays, and, worst of all, the memories.

The memories. That was another problem entirely. The closer it drew to May 2nd, the more tightly wound he became. The rest of the castle was much the same, even the first years and transfers. Everyone had a shorter temper, was more likely to accidentally curse someone in class, or just outright burst into tears in the middle of the hallway. Ron had become very withdrawn, spending most of his time alone in his room, and Harry didn't blame him. Eating meals in the Great Hall had become a huge task; he couldn't stop picturing the bodies of the fallen lining the walls, the blood on the floor, the exact place he had stood when the Elder Wand had flown across the room into his hands.

The combination of the N.E.W.T.s and the first-year anniversary of the Final Battle was, all in all, pretty much the worst thing Harry could imagine. More than once he found himself walking to McGonagall's office to call on his favor and ask for a weekend away, preferably at Draco's French villa, but he knew he wouldn't get any work done, and the prospect of falling behind at this stage was one so horrifying it wasn't worth it.

For that exact reason, the already daunting process of looking at flats became unduly terrifying. Draco had been coaching him for the past week on how to behave at the luncheons—basically, stay silent and let Draco do the talking—as well as how to look: dress robes all the way. His nice ones, the green ones from the Yule Ball, not the grey banker's suit, as Draco referred to it. It was going to be miserable. Not to mention actually determining where he wanted to live; even thinking about making such a monumental decision was enough to make him want to cry.

Harry skipped dinner Friday night, stating he wasn't hungry. This was true; his stomach was far too upset to think about eating. His real reason for skipping dinner was to fit in as much studying as he could. Even with the extra hour, he only barely finished a single subject before Draco forced him to bed at eleven, stating firmly he needed all the rest he needed before meeting with the boards. He ended up lying in bed staring at the ceiling for most of the night, despite an absolutely delicious blowjob around two in the morning meant to tire him out. It did—his muscles certainly relaxed, and he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore—but his brain still wouldn't shut up.

_Lunch meetings with _proper _wizards._

_Snooty, rich, entitled wizards._

_Wizards looking for any reason to deny him an invitation to live there._

_How Draco would react when told they weren't going to be living in either building._

_Voldemort at Hogwarts._

_Hogwarts being overrun with Death Eaters._

_The castle collapsing around him._

_Bodies in the Great Hall, bodies of his dear friends._

_Tonks. Remus. Fred. Creevey brothers._

_Blood on the floor. Blood _everywhere_._

_Dumbledore tumbling from the Astronomy Tower._

That last certainly didn't happen at the Final Battle, but it was all muddled together in his head, and once he started down one path, everything came back.

_Hermione being tortured._

_Dobby's death._

_Draco nearly killing Dumbledore._

_Draco lowering his wand, barely._

_Draco under the thumb of the Dark Lord._

_Draco _letting _himself be under the thumb of the Dark Lord._

_Snape's true colors._

_Snape killing Dumbledore._

_Snape being redeemed only after his death._

_Dying._

_Dying and talking to Dumbledore._

_Seeing his parents before he died._

Harry rolled over, facing the window. He couldn't see anything other than blackness. And the clock on his bedside table, ticking away the minutes before he had to wake up. Wake up and be presentable, without going to pieces over the Final Battle. That would certainly secure them a flat; breaking down, crying and screaming about everything he had done and seen. No doubt that was exactly the type of wizard they were looking for.

Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, filled with images of towering review boards looking down at him in Courtroom Ten. They formed a circle around him, arms crossed, glowering at him. They were chanting at him: _"No Death Eaters, No Death Eaters, No Death Eaters."_ Harry tried to tell him he wasn't a Death Eater, that he had been fighting them. They pointed down, not at Harry, but to his right. He turned and saw Draco standing next to him, sleeve pushed up to reveal his Dark Mark. _"No Death Eaters."_

Harry woke with a jerk to the foghorn alarm, which Draco took care of. Harry buried his face under his pillow.

"I'm not getting up," he said angrily. "You can go. You're better at this than me."

"You've got to," Draco said, and Harry felt the bed shift as he stood. "All wizards on the lease need to be present."

Harry continued to stay in bed, listening to the sounds of Draco getting ready. He didn't exactly remember his dream, just flashes of a dark mark and formidable faces. Still, he felt a strange nervousness around Draco, which was the last thing he needed. This was going to be difficult enough without coldness between them, especially coming from Harry. Draco was so sensitive to him, and there would be no way Harry could hide his emotions.

Draco lay back down, curling around Harry. There was a lot of fabric between them what with the dress robes and the blankets, but Harry could still feel his comforting weight, the arm wrapped around him, and Draco nuzzling against his neck.

"You had nightmares last night, I know," Draco said softly. "And you couldn't sleep. We've got about ten minutes before we've got to leave; do you want to talk?"

Harry smiled to himself. There was no reason to be nervous around Draco. What had he been thinking? Harry removed the pillow from over his head, turning to face him. "No," Harry said. "It's alright. I don't really remember it anyway. I just don't want to get out of bed."

"Nor did I," Draco replied. "But please, love. You know how much this means to me."

"Yeah, I know." Harry leaned up for a kiss. "Okay, okay, let me up." He dressed quickly, let Draco retie his tie, smooth his hair and fuss over his robes before they stepped into the fireplace.

"The Præses!" Draco shouted. They whirled around, emerging in the lobby of a building fancier than Harry had ever seen. It was wide and open with a large fountain in the middle and palm trees spread about the room. The ceiling was made of glass, and Harry couldn't tell if the sky was enchanted like the ceiling in the Great Hall, or if it actually opened to the sky. The floor was rose marble, the walls a sky blue. Draco dusted himself off and then Harry, since he was too busy gawking to remember.

"Come on," Draco said, sweeping forward, looking very impressive. "This floor is devoted to management; we'll be dining in a conference room, but we're meeting the manager first." Harry followed, standing just a bit behind Draco as he knocked on a door. There was a golden plaque on the door, elegant calligraphy saying _Broderick Ullman, Manager_.

The door opened and a tall, nearly skeletal wizard stood before them. He wore black robes, his eyes were dark enough that Harry couldn't differentiate between pupil and iris, and his greasy black hair was much like Snape's. "Misters Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, I presume?" he asked in a croaky voice.

Harry officially decided he wasn't going to live here. The idea of contacting this man every time their toilet clogged or a neighbor was being too noisy was terrifying. This was the building with two free flats, and Harry hoped desperately Magus Towers would be more welcoming. He tugged on Draco's sleeve, and he jerked away.

"Indeed," Draco replied, holding out a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ullman."

"Quite." Draco's hand was taken in a grip that looked very unpleasant, and Harry was grateful he wasn't the one feeling it. "You are late; I am not impressed."

Draco drew himself up to his full height. "Your clock must be off," Draco said. "I assure you we arrived exactly on time."

Mr. Ullman sniffed. "If you insist." He stepped to the side. "You may enter."

Harry followed Draco into the office. It was utterly devoid of personality, the walls hung with awards instead of family photographs. The desk was pristine and a single bookcase stood to the side, half filled with books and half with curiosities that looked as though they belonged in Borgin and Burkes. He sat in an uncomfortable chair as the manager settled behind the desk.

"You have not given us much warning," Mr. Ullman said. "Usually we require at least sixth months notice."

"I believe I conversed with you about this already," Draco said smoothly. "Shall we go over the chat again, or is the matter settled?"

Mr. Ullman gave him a smarmy smile. "No, there is no need to repeat our words. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, why you think I should accept such young and inexperienced wizards into my building."

Harry tuned out as Draco spoke. This sort of conversation was far beyond him, and he felt no need to participate. Besides, he was certain they wouldn't move here, so the whole thing felt pointless. After what seemed like ages, Mr. Ullman stood, Draco following suit and Harry echoing him.

"Shall we continue on to our luncheon?" Mr. Ullman asked.

Harry finally spoke up. "No, thank you," he said, severely startling both Mr. Ullman and Draco. "We will not be living here."

Mr. Ullman sneered. "You have not seen the available flats, nor have you met our esteemed board of trustee, yet you have already made your decision. The fabled Harry Potter shows his true colors. Very well, then. I bid you goodbye."

Harry turned and left without saying another word, Draco trailing behind him, apparently shocked into silence. Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder, pulled them into the fireplace, and yelled, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!" They burst into the dark, dusty sitting room. Alarms started going off and Harry quickly silenced them.

Draco immediately turned on him. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?" he yelled. "You can't just _turn him down_ like that! If you had reservations you should have spoke up, rather than just sitting dumbly, staring at the walls! You don't treat these people like that!"

"I didn't like him," Harry said defensively. "I'm not going to live in a flat where I don't feel welcome."

"You don't feel—" Draco stammered. "He's the _manager_, Harry, we're not going to be _living _with him. Did you see how beautiful the lobby was? I'd ask about the flats, but you didn't even _bother_ to _look _at them! That leaves us with a single building and a single flat. I swear to Merlin, Harry, if we don't get in there—and if you_ dare_ to behave as you just did, I won't be responsible for my actions."

"You said I could pick the flat," Harry reminded him. "And I chose not to live in The Præses."

Draco threw his arms in the air. "Fine. Just brilliant. Let me know when you're done ruining our chances of a respectable flat, never mind destroying my reputation before we even move to London."

"Dray, calm down," Harry said, starting to feel a bit guilty. "I've got good instincts, I promise. If I thought there was something off, there was."

Draco's jaw worked as he clenched his teeth together. "Whatever," he snapped. He flounced over to the couch and sat heavily, causing a cloud of dust to float up around him. Draco coughed, waving his hand in front of his place. "Bloody brilliant. Christ. We could have stayed in the Manor, you know. As long as we're using the Floo Network, there's no need to stay in London. We could even be back in our own room now, having a decent lunch in the Great Hall."

Harry had thought of this already, and he shuffled awkwardly, looking down at his shoes. "Yes, well…"

"Well what?" Draco asked angrily. "What possible reason could you have for wanting to stay in this dump?"

Harry jerked up and glared at him. "This is my home," he said sharply. "I wanted to show you, like you took me to your houses. So we're equal, y'know? I know it's not very homey, and you haven't even met Kreacher or Mrs. Black yet, but I lived here for years. It was the first time I had a place that was _mine_, even if the Order mostly took over. I _belonged_ here."

Draco's expression softened. "All right," he said. "Show me around."

Harry immediately realized it was a bad idea. The shrunken house elf heads, the portraits of the sneering Black family, Mrs. Black screaming at them before Harry wrestled the curtain closed. He showed him the family tree, which Draco stared at for quite some time, and the bedrooms. It was all dusty and empty and depressing and filled with memories. They weren't all bad: there was the time when he, Fred and George used an Extendable Ear to spy on the Order; the giant undertaking of cleaning the building, as difficult as it had been, was bonding and, occasionally, amusing; most importantly the time he had spent with Sirius. And when he came back last year and he found the letter from Lily and the picture of him flying around on the toy broomstick.

But still, the bad memories were nearly overwhelming. Being shoved out of the Order, unable to do anything other than spy. Hiding out with Ron and Hermione, having to apparate exactly onto the top step without any room for mistakes. Battling with Kreacher over everything. Mrs. Black's constant screams. The memories of his friends walking through the halls, living in the bedrooms, friends who were now dead.

Harry felt a lump rising in his throat as he showed Draco the room Fred and George had shared. There was no reason either of them would set foot in Grimmauld Place again, but Fred would never even have the chance. Nor would Remus or Tonks. Maybe one day he'd bring Teddy here, show him where the Order planned the war, where his parents had spent so much time. Harry didn't know if that qualified as good or more bad memories waiting to happen.

While Harry suspected Draco was still significantly pissed at him for his behavior at The Præses, he had calmed for the time being. This house was in his family, after all, and seeing the rooms where they had once lived subdued him significantly. He wasn't entirely unaware of Harry's reaction, though, and he laced their fingers together as they walked back downstairs. This set off Mrs. Black again, screaming about how she never would have allowed such a relationship in _her_ day and how it was a positive _disgrace_ to the name Black for such a thing to take place under her _very own roof_. Harry sent a spell at the portrait without thinking about it.

Kreacher was almost certainly still at Hogwarts; he wasn't in the kitchen or where he slept, and he didn't respond to Harry's calls. That didn't necessarily mean he wasn't lurking around somewhere, but Harry thought it more likely he remained at the school. He did a quick check of the pantry and started boiling water for pasta. He and Draco were very hungry, having missed breakfast and lunch, and they ate everything Harry prepared. The tomato sauce Harry hadn't thought to throw away before going back to school was a very disturbing color, and so they ate the pasta plain, the only accompaniment glasses of dodgy tap water. The starkness of the meal seemed very fitting given their surroundings.

"I'm sorry I was so rude to the manager," Harry said partway through their meal.

"It's okay, I suppose," Draco said grudgingly. "You were hardly raised in society."

This was an excuse Draco used frequently, and it grated a little more on Harry's nerves every time he heard it. No, he hadn't grown up the way Draco had, but he was hardly a caveman. "It had nothing to do with that," he said testily. "I didn't like Ullman. I didn't trust him."

"_Nobody_ trusts flat managers," Draco said. "Like barristers. It's something you've got to get used to."

"I'll be nice at Magus," Harry replied. "I promise."

"I should hope so," Draco said. "It's our only chance now."

Harry didn't bother once again trying to convince Draco there were other options. Not only was it a useless endeavor, the last thing he needed was to make him even angrier. Harry washed their dishes after lunch, setting them in the drainer where they sat, dripping, looking lonely.

"So what's there to do here?" Draco asked, still at the kitchen table. "I didn't see much for entertainment."

Interesting question. There weren't any Order meetings, nor discussions of where to look for the next Horcrux to keep them busy. Over the summer he had mostly moped, wandering aimlessly from one room to another, occasionally destroying things as he saw fit. He ate and he slept. He read the weekly letters from Hermione. Sometimes he read books, though for the most part they contained dark arts and he closed them immediately. Those were now kept in a locked closet in the basement, far from where anyone could reach them. The only books that remained were rather dull, extremely biased histories of the Black family, and a few hidden spell books he had found in Sirius and Regulus' rooms, but they were geared toward teenagers. Clever teenagers, yes, but still wizards several years younger than Harry and Draco.

"There's a chess set around here somewhere," Harry said, not very helpfully. He and Draco hardly played; it was too embarrassing on Harry's end. "But we brought our homework, we should probably get to work on that." He pulled out the miniaturized books and spelled them back to their regular size. Draco was looking at him guiltily, and Harry sighed. "You didn't bring yours, did you?"

"Not exactly," Draco said. "I'll just use your Defense book and do the rest tomorrow. We should be back in time for dinner, and I'll finish it after."

"Ha!" Harry said, pointing at Draco. "You forgot something. Finally. I've been waiting for this day for ages."

Draco sneered at him. "At least I didn't get us kicked out of one of the most prestigious flat buildings in London."

"Shut up and get to work," Harry said lightly, handing him a spare quill and a piece of parchment. He set the book between the two of them and they worked in silence. Writing the essay alone took several hours, and then they moved on to practicing the assigned spells, switching back and forth between cursing and protection.

Harry made another round of pasta for dinner, despite Draco's angry muttering. The temperature dropped steadily and they ate in the sitting room, Draco lighting a particularly warm fire. They continued to stare into the fireplace after they finished eating, lost in thought. Harry's mind was on the Order and, necessarily, the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. The expression on Sirius' face as he fell back into the veil. His cousin's maniacal laughter and teasing as she ran through the prophecies. Sirius, who had lived here, who had spent time with Harry here, who had left him the house. Sirius, the only real family he had ever known. They had sat in front of this very fireplace as Sirius told him stories of his childhood with James, Remus and Wormtail. That was something else he had spent his summer doing, haunting the places where he and Sirius had spent the most time together.

"Harry," Draco said quietly, taking his hand. "What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing," Harry said just as softly. "I'm fine."

"Then why the tears?"

Harry jerked. He was crying? He hadn't realized. He quickly brushed the tears away. "It's nothing," he repeated and yes, now he heard it, the slight shake of his voice and his clogged sinuses. "Memories."

Draco let go of his hand and wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing them together. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the Manor?" he asked. "Or back to Hogwarts?"

Harry shook his head. Those places were also full of memories, both occurring at this time of year. He was suddenly desperately excited to sign a lease to a new flat in a new building with a new start. No memories he wouldn't make himself. It was a very comforting thought.

"I suppose we could apparate to France, or Switzerland," Draco offered. "They're not on the Floo network, but—"

"No," Harry said. "This is my place. I want to be here."

"No wonder you returned to Hogwarts so deflated," Draco said. He nuzzled Harry's cheek and kissed the soft skin. "Care to make some good memories?"

Harry didn't know. It seemed almost sacrilegious to have sex in such a serious place. He wanted to, the comfort of Draco's body would be so welcome, but not only was the house so solemn, he wasn't entirely sure he could keep it up, not when his brain was so busy.

"It was just an offer," Draco said. "We haven't got to."

"I think that'd be good," Harry said, not exactly sure. "Down here, though. I can't, not in Sirius' room. When Ron and Hermione and I stayed here last year we slept here. It's just—it's easier, and—"

"Shh," Draco interrupted, placing a brief kiss on his lips. "It's fine. Whatever you want."

Harry led him over to the couch he had slept on all summer. It still had a charm on it that made the hard, antique couch plushy and soft. Harry sat and pulled Draco onto his lap. "Thank you," he said. "For being here with me."

"Anything for you."

Harry immediately took a liking to Magus Towers. The lobby had a large fireplace with comfy couches surrounding it, a plushy carpet, softly lit orbs around the edge of the room, and one very large one suspended in the middle of the ceiling. There were plants here, as well, but less tropical and more native: a rose bush running along the entirety of one wall, and small trees along the other. Circular tables with wingback chairs sat around the room, and it was from one of those a wizard rose and walked over to them.

"Draco and Harry, yes?" he asked, and Harry liked him much more than Mr. Ullman as well. He was short, round and jovial. Very flushed but with kind eyes and soft, pudgy hands that were warm as he enthusiastically shook hands with both of them.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said.

"Charmed," Draco added.

"I'm Stuart Meredith, manager of Magus. Please, come sit." They sat at the nearest table, Harry sinking into a comfortable chair. "It's so good to finally meet you. My correspondence with Draco left me quite intrigued by you boys; his excitement and urgency to visit is quite refreshing compared to the dull applications we usually receive."

Draco flushed, and Harry was certain he had been aiming for such dullness himself. "I apologize for any impropriety," he said stiffly.

Mr. Meredith waved his hand. "Nonsense! Now usually this is the part where I ask you about yourselves, but both of you have been in the public eye for long enough I feel a bit silly asking," he said. "Not that one can believe everything they read in the _Prophet_, of course. Still, Harry Potter and a Malfoy—quite the combination. Reports of your affair have been greatly exaggerated, I'm sure, but I can see from how you look at each other there's more than a little truth behind the rumors."

Harry flushed. It was sort of refreshing, to be addressed so straight on, but it still took him off guard. "Er, yeah," he said. "We're together."

Mr. Meredith grinned. "Wonderful. We encourage families here." Draco made an extremely displeased expression, and Mr. Meredith laughed. "Not to worry, Draco, the walls are thick and the children well-behaved."

"Excellent," Draco said dryly.

"You are much younger than we typically accept," Mr. Meredith said. "Though I am convinced you must be quite mature, given your histories. Still, I must ask. Can I trust you to be respectful, lawful, and not throw loud, rowdy parties every night?"

"Of course," Harry said. "We're not—"

"—big partiers," Draco finished. They were both thinking of the Firewhiskey incident, and how they had never drank with anyone aside from family since.

"Good, good," Mr. Meredith said. "Any pets?"

"We've each got an owl," Harry said.

"Very well behaved," Draco added. "Only the best."

"I'm sure," he replied. "We've got a small Owlery on the top floor, so that won't be a problem. Kneazles are welcome, and Crups if they're well-behaved, but we don't allow any other pets—no Fwoopers, no Nifflers, nothing like that. Oh, and Puffskeins are fine."

"We're owl people," Draco said firmly.

"Certainly," Mr. Meredith replied. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

"How is security?" Draco asked. "We are quite used to residing behind only the strongest of spells."

"Absolutely. We've got a Fidelius charm on the building, as well as a variety of other spells I'm afraid I can't tell you, due to security reasons," Mr. Meredith answered. "In addition, we've got two live-in security guards ready to apprehend any potential unwanteds."

Draco nodded. "Obviously you're connected to the Floo network here; are the flats connected as well?"

"That's up to you," Mr. Meredith said. "We've got the forms to fill out if you'd like them. It does come with an added security risk, as I'm sure you know."

"Of course," Draco said silkily. "We will not be requiring such amenities. Is apparation allowed in the building?"

"No, another security measure. But we do have a patio and gardens out back, and a highly protected shed for such purposes. It keeps away any wandering Muggle eyes while allowing easy transport."

"And house elves?" Draco asked. "Does the building have its own elves?"

"I'm afraid not," Mr. Meredith said. "That's another choice up to you."

Harry shot a pointed look at Draco, who briefly closed his eyes. "We will remain elf-less for the time being. There are laundry facilities, then, in each flat?"

"Absolutely," Mr. Meredith said.

Draco turned to Harry. "Have you got any questions?"

"Is it private?" Harry asked. "I'm, um, a bit sick of publicity, and being stared at, and things."

Mr. Meredith laughed. "Not to worry, Harry, reporters are strictly banned from the premises. I cannot promise there won't be a stray look or two, but our residents are all nice witches and wizards, and I'm sure they'll respect your privacy."

"And, well, can we, y'know, see the flat?"

Another laugh. "Of course. Come with me." He led them over to the rose bush, tapped a specific flower, and the bush retreated at the same time as a door appeared in the wall. They stepped inside and ascended, the staircase moving much like the one in McGonagall's office. "You'd be on the fifth floor," he said. "Each floor is clearly labeled—see?" They passed a platform with a door labeled One. "When you get to your own floor just step off, the stairs will stop for you. There's another staircase at the opposite end of the hallway that goes down; that one comes out by the trees. You'll see when you're done looking, of course."

They arrived at the fifth floor and, though Harry was a bit nervous, the moment he lifted his foot the stairs stilled, and they walked through the door into a long hallway. The carpet was deep blue, decorated with elegantly curling vines and flowers. Mr. Meredith led them down to a door marked Fifty-Nine, the last door on the left. He tapped the doorknob, muttering something under his breath, and the door opened.

"You're quite lucky," he said. "The only open flat is a corner unit, giving you plenty of light." For the first time since they arrived, Draco smiled. They stepped into the flat, and once again, Harry immediately fell in love. The corner windows were right in front of them, shedding sunlight through the room. They were in the living room, a wide-open space with wooden floors. The kitchen was on the left, separated by a wall with a cutout big enough to comfortably talk through. There wasn't a dining room exactly, more of an open space at the end of the kitchen. Harry and Draco were both drawn to the windows and looked out at the view. London was spread before them, beautiful old-fashioned buildings stretching down one end of the street and a park on the other.

"You've got a coffee shop, a grocer, a Muggle bookshop, a small but very nice French restaurant and a pizzeria," Mr. Meredith said. "Muggle flats are on top of the shops. Magus has a Disillusionment charm on it to allow the owls to come and go as they please, as well as leaving by broom.

"All of the closets in your flat have expandable charms on them, giving you as much space as you need, and on the day of move-in, the apparation charm will be lifted on just your flat to allow for furniture, boxes and anything else you bring."

"Come on," Draco said, looking pleased. "Let's check out the rest of the place." There was a short hallway off the living room, and a quick peek into two doors revealed the washer and dryer on one side and a coat closet on the other. The door at the end of the hallway opened onto the bedroom, a large, open space. There was a large, picture window on one wall, a closet on another and a bathroom with a large tub separate from the shower. A winding staircase occupied one corner, and Harry and Draco climbed up to reveal a study, again flooded with light from a picture window.

"This is perfect," Harry said. "I can keep my work up here and not bother you with all the clutter."

"And the bedroom is certainly big enough for my bed," Draco said, going back downstairs. "Which I told you it would be." Harry rolled his eyes as they rejoined Mr. Meredith in the living room.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's perfect," Harry repeated. "I love it."

Draco elbowed him. "It's a possibility," he said smoothly. "What is the rent again?"

"Two thousand a week," Mr. Meredith said.

Draco sniffed. "Perhaps we'll take the one we saw yesterday. Harry, what do you think?"

It took him a moment to answer. "I did like that one," he said. "There were house elves taking care of the laundry."

"And the bedroom was bigger," Draco added. "Plus, it had a separate dining area."

"And it was only, what, a thousand a week?" Harry said. "Still in Knightsbridge, too."

Mr. Meredith had a small smile on his face. "Boys, the rate is set. If you found a flat in Knightsbridge for a thousand a week, it wasn't at Præses. Maybe a studio in a Muggle building, and you don't seem the type to want to live amongst Muggles."

"My father is a friend of the owner," Draco replied haughtily. "Mr. Ullman and Father go back many years, and we were offered a special rate."

"They do, huh?" Mr. Meredith said. "I have never known that man to offer anyone a deal, not even to his cousin."

"Family isn't everything, Mr. Meredith," Draco said. "I hardly think you know the intricacies of Mr. Ullman's relationship with either his cousin or my father."

Mr. Meredith's eyes twinkled. "I still don't believe a word you say, but I'm impressed with your moxie. Nine hundred a week, then, and not a Knut less."

Draco turned to Harry. "What do you think, love? Do you want it?"

"If you're sure," Harry said. "Since you'll be covering the rent."

"Only until you get through training," Draco said with a bit of a smile. "Then we'll have another talk."

"So you don't mind?"

Draco wrapped an arm around his waist in a half-hug. "Hon, it's fine. I promised you can pick the flat, and it's up to you."

Harry looked around once again. He did like it, very much, and he liked Mr. Meredith as well. He had thought this would be a decision filled with stress and uncertainty, but he found it remarkably easy. "Yeah," he said with a smile. "Yeah, I like it a lot."

"Excellent," Mr. Meredith said. "You'll be moving in after graduation, I assume?"

"June 19th," Draco said. "I promised Mother we'll spend a weekend with her before moving out permanently."

"I'm going to need a layaway charge, as well as your security deposit, and first and last months rent," Mr. Meredith said. "I'll hold it for you, but it's going to cost."

"That won't be a problem," Draco said. "Will moving in mid-month be an issue?"

"No, it's fine. Your lease is for the year, and it will expire at the end of June of 2001."

"And the review board?" Draco asked.

Mr. Meredith laughed. "That'd be me, Draco, and I approve you."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Oh," he said, baffled. "I thought—"

"We aren't quite as discerning as Præses," Mr. Meredith said with a smile. "We accept only wizards, of course, and generally a security check and an income check are required, but I'm confident in your names and fortunes. Shall we abscond to my office and begin paperwork?"

Harry and Draco exchanged another look. "You like it, too?" Harry asked. "You're not going to be complaining and blaming me for living in a place you hate?"

"I like it very much," Draco said. "It's sunny and open, and you've got a place to keep your mess away from me. I couldn't ask for more."

Harry leaned up for a quick kiss. "Then paperwork it is."


	59. Chapter 59: The First Doubts

**A/N:** I'm glad you all liked the last chapter! I was a little worried it might be boring, but nope! Excellent!

So, um, prepare yourself for some angst. I absolutely, 100% promise there is going to be a happy ending, but, well, it's Harry and Draco, they've got to go through some shit first. But really, happy ending. Promise.

A quick warning: Ostriches has 63 chapters plus an epilogue for a total of 64. Today is 59. I'm just putting it out there, we're closing in on the end. However, I do have a steadily growing collection of one-shots to publish after this guy.

**IF ANY OF YOU HAVE ANY SPARE PLOT BUNNIES OR IDEAS YOU'D LIKE TO SEE WRITTEN, PLEASE PM ME!** Writing is my favorite thing ever and the best anti-anxiety/depression medication out there and I'm running low on ideas. I would absolutely adore to **write you your own, personal Drarry story, just for you**_. _Just send me a PM and, poof! It'll get written!

**Chapter Fifty-Nine:**

_**The First Doubts**_

_It was the Final Battle. Harry didn't have his wand. He didn't have himself. He floated through the carnage, through the individual fights, past the spiders and the giants, watching as curses flew everywhere. There was nothing he could do, not in this state. He wasn't anywhere to be seen; was he with Voldemort, then, in the Forbidden Forest?_

_He saw Ron and Hermione, the two of them taking on a crowd of at least five Death Eaters._

"_Where's Harry?" Ron yelled, dodging a curse._

"Reducto!_" Hermione shouted. "With Malfoy. Bloody hell!_" _She cast a quick _Aguamenti_ as her jeans caught fire._

_Harry's heart froze. Had he abandoned the battle, or had he convinced Draco to fight with them? He wanted to ask but he could make no noise, and that seemed to settle the issue for Ron. He stayed and watched until they defeated the Death Eaters before them and moved on to the next group._

_Neville was in the courtyard in front of the castle, battling Nagini. He didn't have the sword, only his wand. Harry tried to yell at him; the Sorting Hat was by his feet, he could pull the sword out right now. Why hadn't he before? What had happened?_

_Harry watched with a sickening horror as Nagini reared up and slammed into Neville's face. He had a moment to scream before her fangs sunk into him, his wand clattered to the ground and he was gone._

Where the hell am I?_ Harry thought desperately. _Why doesn't Neville have the sword? What had happened?

_The bridge still stood, Death Eaters pouring into the courtyard. Why hadn't Seamus and Neville taken care of it? An explosion shook the castle and Harry rushed inside. Fred was already gone, his empty body lying defeated on the stone floor. Percy was screaming but he had no one to hold him back and he rushed forward into a throng of Death Eaters, who quickly dispatched him._

_The Great Hall was decimated. There were no longer bodies lined against the wall; instead they hovered where the ceiling had been, dripping blood, guts, whatever they had been cursed with. A company of Death Eaters stood where the professors' table should have been, holding them up and laughing, swinging the bodies to and fro, flipping them upside down, backwards, down to the floor and then up again._

_Harry retched, unable to throw up in this suspended state. McGonagall was among those being played with. Her face was a mask of pain, eyes still screaming despite her death. Bellatrix was one of the Death Eaters directing the movement of the bodies, laughing hysterically as McGonagall's body did a series of somersaults through the air._

_Harry left, unable to bear the sight. He made his way up to where the Order was supposed to be fighting. There were only bodies and rubble._

_Harry went to the Room of Requirement. It was still a burnt-out shell, containing nothing but the ashes of everything that had been hidden. He couldn't tell if the Diadem had been destroyed, but it didn't matter, not after Neville failed to kill Nagini._

_Harry drifted around until he found a clock. It was late, much too late. He should have been back by now, should have already killed Voldemort. _Where the fuck was he?

_Harry felt a sudden weight in his back pocket. He took out the Marauders Map, which responded to him, regardless of his ethereal state. It was nearly impossible to find any names among the torrent of footsteps everywhere. Then, finally, he saw his name, next to Draco's. The only names in that part of the castle. No Death Eaters, no Voldemort, nothing to indicate he was fighting at all._

_Harry flew up to the Astronomy Tower, trying to calm himself. Maybe he was waiting for something. Maybe Voldemort was on his way, and he was coming up with a trap. Maybe—_

"_It should be safe here," Harry watched himself say. "Nobody is going to come up here, not after what happened to Dumbledore."_

_Draco walked to the edge of the room and looked down at the battle waging far below. "Thanks, again, for saving my life."_

"_Yeah," Harry said. "Sure. A good enough final act, I suppose."_

_Draco looked at him. "You're really going to sit out the rest of the battle, then?"_

_Harry joined him at the edge of the tower. "I have to," he said. "There's nothing I can do. It's done."_

_Harry screamed at himself, unheard. _What are you talking about? Let Voldemort kill you! Kill the snake! You can do this!

"_I would've thought you'd go to Voldemort," Draco said. "Your hero complex and all."_

_Very quietly, Harry said, "Fuck being a hero. I don't want to die. Besides," he added, more loudly, "you're here. You're not fighting for either side. You followed me."_

"_I haven't got a choice," Draco said. "I'd be killed either way. If the Death Eaters saw me fighting for Hogwarts I'd be dead, and if I fought for the Death Eaters, your lot would have my head. Best to stay out of sight until it's done."_

_Harry nodded. "Going to join Voldemort, then? After?"_

_Draco shrugged. "Probably. Whatever my parents do. Voldemort may have humiliated us, but at least we're alive. That's more than I can say for those who opposed him." He stayed silent for a moment. "And you? Going to go into hiding? I'm sure your face will be even more hated than the Dark Lord's once people find out you've run away."_

_Harry sighed. "I guess. Voldemort will still search me out, probably kill me in the end. Maybe I'll just join him. I can hardly sink lower than I have tonight."_

_Harry stared at himself. What—what was he doing? How could he even think such a thing? Didn't he care at all about his friends, dying floors beneath him? And the rest of the wizarding world, waiting to be conquered once this battle was lost?_

_Draco looked at him. "I can summon the Dark Lord, if you'd like. Surrender now, we can join him together."_

_Harry considered. "Together, eh? Together sounds good."_

_Draco moved to point his wand at his Dark Mark, and then paused. "Together?" he repeated. "You and me, together at last."_

_Harry grinned, cold, hard and emotionless. "It's been too long." He pulled Draco in for a searing kiss, filled with biting and teeth clashing and tongues dueling. The sight made Harry sick. "Alright, then, summon Voldemort. Either way it'll be over soon, whether we're killed on sight or accepted into his ranks."_

_Draco tapped his wand against his mark. They waited in hushed silence. There was a swirl of black smoke, and then Voldemort solidified._

"_Ah, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter," he said. "Your absence has been noticed, by those still alive to notice such things."_

"_We're done," Harry said. "If you take us, we're with you."_

_Harry couldn't see Voldemort's expression. No matter how he moved, it seemed the Dark Lord was always turned away from him_

"_I invited all to join me," Voldemort said. "You may be late, but having such powerful wizardry on my side is surely enough to warrant forgiveness. You'll find I'm quite forgiving."_

"_Draco's family have got to be treated better," Harry said firmly. "You'll need to find another whipping boy."_

"_A small price to pay to have the Boy Who Lived on my side," Voldemort said. "Had you anyone in mind?"_

"_Parkinsons," Draco said immediately. "Especially Pansy."_

_Voldemort laughed. "If you're so inclined. I'm afraid I'll need something from you as well; I won't dole out favors without expecting something in return."_

"_Of course," Draco said. "What would you have us do?"_

"_Draco, go fight among your peers," Voldemort directed. "As long as you stay on my side, you won't be harmed. I give you my word. A test, you see, to make sure I can trust you."_

_Draco nodded and left the tower, leaving the two Harrys alone with Voldemort._

"_You, Harry Potter, are much more difficult," Voldemort said. "What shall I have you do, to prove your loyalty to me? I think we'll start with the obvious—give me your left arm." Harry rolled up his sweater and held out his arm. Voldemort whispered something in a foreign tongue, and the Dark Mark appeared on his arm. Harry smiled, while Harry screamed at him to stop, to turn away, to throw himself off the damned tower if that's what it took._

"_And for your first task, dispatch of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley," Voldemort said. "My own soldiers are bested again and again by the pair."_

_Harry nodded. "They'll trust me," he said. "It won't be a problem."_

"_Good. Come with me, then." Harry laid his arm on Voldemort's and they whisked away. Harry flew down to where he had last seen Ron and Hermione. They were still at the foot of the stairs but the Death Eaters attacking them had stepped back. In fact all fighting had stopped as they watched. A horrible symmetry to the actual final act between Harry and Voldemort._

"_Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked, eyes brimming with tears. "Why are you standing with him? What's that on your arm?"_

"_It's too late, 'Mione," Harry said. "We should have realized ages ago. We can never destroy them all, we can never kill Voldemort. We were wrong the whole time. He's forgiving, Hermione. He's a good man."_

"_What are you talking about?" Ron yelled. "He's evil, the most evil wizard to ever have lived."_

"_No, you've got it wrong," Harry said. "But it's too late, like I said. I'll miss you, but you'll never understand."_

"_Miss us—?" Hermione started._

_Harry cut her off, raising the Elder Wand, _his_ wand. "I'll miss you," he repeated. "So much. _Avada Kedavra._"_

_A flash of green light, and Hermione fell. Ron dropped to his knees, cradling her head in his lap, and Harry was at her side in an instant, trying to hold her, his arms just sinking through her body._

"_I hope you find her, Ron, in the next world," Harry said. "Hermione, Fred, Percy. Everyone who's gone. They won't understand, not now. But everything that's been said, everyone who called me the greatest wizard to have lived, they're right. Voldemort, too. It'll be okay, Ron, I promise. You'll see. _Avada Kedavra._"_

_Molly Weasley let out a shriek, rushing forward. Voldemort raised his wand and she, too, fell._

"Stop it!"_ Harry yelled silently. "_Just stop!_"_

_A sad smile crossed Harry's face. "There's a lot of pain to be had to spread the truth, isn't there?"_

"_Wiser words have never been said," Voldemort answered. "Come, Harry. Let my army finish this. It won't take long. You and I, we can move on."_

"_And Draco," Harry said. "We've waited too long to be together. I can't wait any longer."_

"_If you'd like."_

_Harry found himself being moved along with Harry, Draco and Voldemort. It wasn't apparating, it was an entirely new method of travel. It was awful._

_Harry and Draco were fucking. There was no kinder way to put it, no making love. Violent, painful, powerful fucking. The room was dark, the bed was black, pale bodies writhing on the sheets. Voldemort stood by the door, watching for a moment before leaving._

_Again that awful travelling._

_They were at 10 Downing Street. There were reporters in front of them, wizard and Muggle alike. The Muggles shared a look beyond terror, a look of hardened resignation to their fate._

"_My people are rising," Voldemort said. "We will rise, and conquer. All wizards and witches are welcomed to our ranks. We mean no harm to purebloods, we do not wish to spill magical blood."_

"_Muggles will be wiped out," Harry said. "There's no place for them here. Like pigs to slaughter, we will come."_

_Draco's hand was laced with Harry's. "We are forgiving," he said. "Those who once stood against us are just as welcome as those who have been with us from the start."_

"_There is no higher proof of that than myself," Harry said. "Any who wish are welcome. Those who stand in our way—"_

"_They shall be defeated," Voldemort cut in. "Every last one. There will be no more Boys Who Lived. We will track down every last one of you and destroy."_

_The trio stopped looking at the cameras, turning to face each other. "We're done, then?" Harry asked._

"_We always are by now," Voldemort said. "Those cameras, they've been broadcasting live?"_

"_We checked before the interview started," Draco answered._

"_Very good," Voldemort replied. "You deserve a reward, I think, for remembering this time, unlike last week." Draco flinched. "Finish off the Muggles, would you?"_

"_Yes, my lord." Draco raised his wand and, using a spell Harry didn't recognize, killed all the Muggles with a single sweep of his wand. The cameras fell, no doubt broadcasting sideway shots of dead bodies or static._

"_You can leave now," Harry said to the wizard reporters. "Your service to our cause will not be forgotten."_

"_Harry," Draco said, boring into his eyes. "Harry, stop screaming."_

_Harry's brow furrowed. "What're you talking about? I'm not screaming, I'm talking to you."_

"_Please, love, stop screaming."_

"_Draco, I'm afraid you've gotten yourself muddled," Voldemort said. "You've got to get used to these interviews."_

"_Harry!" Draco grabbed his shoulders. "Wake up. Stop screaming and wake up."_

_Harry jerked away. "I don't know what you're talking about." Harry walked to Voldemort's side._

_Harry was in a dream, then. His own dream. Not a Pensieve or actual events, just a dream. He tried to yell at himself, but he still couldn't make any sounds or any movements._

_Draco grabbed his left arm and pulled up his sleeve. "You haven't got a Dark Mark! You aren't a Death Eater! Wake up!"_

_Harry looked down at his arm and his eyes grew wide. He turned to Voldemort. "What's happened? Where'd it go?"_

"_It's just an illusion," Voldemort said. "Pay it no mind."_

"_Voldemort isn't here!" Draco yelled. "Harry, please, stop screaming!"_

_Harry turned back to Voldemort, who was gone. Harry jumped. "What the hell is going on here?"_

"_Wake. Up."_

Harry's eyes flew open. Draco was leaning over him, eyes wide, shaking his shoulders.

"Harry," he said in relief. "Thank god you're awake. You were saying the most awful—"

Harry leaned over the side of the bed and threw up. He was shaking and sweating, but he felt a bit better with an empty stomach.

"Harry," Draco said softly, rubbing his back. "Tell me."

Harry wiped his mouth, grabbed his wand and magicked the mess away. He sat, leaning into Draco's embrace, and closed his eyes. He forced himself to picture the real Final Battle. It was awful, he always did his absolute best to keep it at bay, but he needed it now. He wasn't in the Astronomy Tower, he was in the Great Hall. He and Voldemort were slowly circling, talking quietly. The Elder Wand flew across the room and into his hand, and Voldemort collapsed into nothingness. Ron and Hermione rushed over to hug him, very much alive.

"The Final Battle," Harry said croakily. "Gone wrong."

"Three days short of a year," Draco said. "It's no wonder you're having nightmares. The whole school is; have you heard Pomfrey's run out of Dreamless Sleep?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Everyone knew. Slughorn had them making it in class, but very few students could do it as well as their professor. "How're you okay? Have you got your own secret stash?"

Draco flushed. "I might have brewed some back in April, just in case," he said. "You can have some if you need it. I didn't mean to hide it from you, I just assumed you wouldn't take any."

"Yeah, I won't," Harry said. "If I'm meant to have nightmares, I'll have them."

Draco ran a hand down Harry's cheek. "It took so long to wake you," he said softly. "You answered me, but you were talking about Voldemort, and your Dark Mark. I thought—I know some spells for waking up, but they're not—it's unpleasant."

"No," Harry said. "Let me be. It's better. I keep hoping I'll dream myself out, that one day they'll be gone."

"Maybe," Draco said. "Not now. Tell me about it, would you?"

"We were hiding," Harry said. "During the Final Battle, in the Astronomy Tower. We decided to join Voldemort. You convinced me, I think. I don't remember exactly. I killed Ron and Hermione. We fucked. Voldemort raised us to the top, we were by his side all the way. You killed Muggles."

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry. "Never," he said firmly. "That'll never happen."

"Right," Harry said. "Course not."

Draco pulled a flask out of his bedside table. "Just a sip," he said. "To get you through the night."

Harry looked at it distastefully. "I just told you, Draco, I don't want—"

"Just for the rest of tonight," Draco said. "Please, Harry. Let yourself get some rest. I know you think you deserve all this. You haven't told me, but I can tell. One night. Half a night, even."

Harry closed his eyes. "Dray, no. I did try it once, over the summer. It was awful. I slept for ages, and I wasn't coherent for days. There weren't dreams, not exactly, but I couldn't tell what was real or not. I'm not doing it again."

Draco sighed and put the flask away. "Fine. Will you let me—?"

"No," Harry interrupted. "Not tonight. I don't—"

"You most certainly do deserve it," Draco said. "If you don't give me a better excuse than that, I'll have my way with you whether you want it or not."

"We fucked, in my dream," Harry said. "I told you. It was awful. We're never using that word again, I don't care how much you want me to talk dirty to you, it's not happening. You haven't the slightest idea of what it's like, like that."

"Then let me show you," Draco said gently. "Let me remind you what you and I have. We've never fucked, not once, no matter what we've called it. Let me show you."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Had Draco convinced him to go over to Voldemort, or had it been his idea? He couldn't remember. It wasn't clear.

"Can I see your Mark?" Harry asked.

Draco hesitated. "Why?"

"Just please, let me see it."

Draco sighed, but turned over his arm. "I don't understand you, Harry."

"It's fading," Harry said, almost in awe. "It used to be so much darker."

"Yeah, I know," Draco said. "I dunno if it'll ever be gone, but it's lighter."

Harry kissed it sometimes, ran his finger over the skin, reassuring Draco he didn't care. But he couldn't do that now, not tonight. Harry turned his arm over and let go.

"I can't tonight," Harry said. "Even with it fading."

Draco kissed his cheek lightly. "Alright. Will you at least let me hold you?"

Harry turned away, just for a moment, just long enough for Draco to notice. "Yeah, of course."

"Never mind," Draco said tightly. "You don't want me, and I won't force myself on you."

"I do want you," Harry said. He felt like crying. "I need you. Please, Dray. Don't turn away."

"You did," Draco said. "You turned away. Why should I do any different?"

"Please don't fight with me," Harry said, voice cracking as tears started to fall silently. "Dray, anything for you, please. I'm yours, I wasn't turning away, I wasn't thinking. You know what my nightmares are like. Please hold me."

Draco grabbed Harry's face in both hands and kissed him. Harry responded slowly, but he did respond, and Draco pulled away. "Lie down," he said. "We can't very well fall asleep like this, can we?" Harry slid down and Draco wrapped himself around him, holding him as tightly as he could. "I love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Of all the things he wasn't sure of, that he knew. "G'night."

Draco stiffened. "Night, then."

It was only when he was a few moments from sleep that he realized why. He hadn't returned the sentiment. Then he was asleep.

That was a terrible weekend. Without realizing what he was doing, Harry spent most of his time avoiding Draco, instead staying with what remained of Dumbledore's Army. They studied in the Gryffindor common room in silence; not only did they have an unreasonable amount of work due to the approaching N.E.W.T.s, nobody had the energy to make small talk, nor did anyone bring up what was on everybody's mind. Despite the fact that this was a Hogsmeade weekend for the entire school, the castle remained remarkably full.

Draco tried, at first, to stay by Harry. He wasn't turned away from the common room, nor did anyone ask him to leave. He didn't get any nasty looks. He, Hermione and Luna even teamed up to get through Arithmancy together. But there was something between the others, something he didn't share, and he constantly felt as though he was intruding. After lunch he told Harry he was going back to their room to do potions, and Harry's only response was a nod. Draco leaned in for a kiss and Harry turned away, leaving only his cheek.

"I'll see you later, then," Draco said coolly. He made an effort nobody noticed to fall behind the group until they divided off, and then he disappeared.

Harry settled back in the common room. Nothing had happened here. The common room remained untouched by the carnage of the Battle. It was almost comforting. He stared angrily at his Defense homework. After all he had done, why the bloody fuck did he need to write an essay on it? Without needing any prompting, Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder and took a hand in hers. Ron had her other hand and the three sat, not working or talking, just taking comfort in each other.

Eventually, unspeaking, they separated and returned to their work. Harry went through each subject without thinking, mind blank. His nightmare was gone, the memories of the Final Battle at bay, the list of dead absent. His mind was blissfully blank. Every now and then he'd hear a sniffle and know one of them was crying. Nobody seemed surprised or concerned; quiet words of comfort were whispered, but for the most part, they left each other alone.

Dinner was unnaturally quiet.

At eleven Hermione said they might as well get some sleep and the group dispersed. Many were Gryffindors and just walked upstairs. A small group left without speaking, breaking off as the Hufflepuffs went downstairs, the Ravenclaws went to their tower and Harry, alone, walked back to his room.

"Harry James Potter," he told the sphinx, voice blank.

"I wasn't part of the battle, you know," it said. "Nobody came up here. But if they had, I would have held the Dark Lord's army back."

"Thanks."

"Go on, then, get some sleep." The door swung open and Harry plodded upstairs and into his room. Draco was in the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. His legs were crossed, elbows on his knees and face in his hands, staring into the fire.

"I'm sorry," Harry said numbly. "For the things I did. For what we all did."

"I get it," Draco said quietly. "It's fine."

"It's not," Harry replied. "Come to bed, would you?"

Draco stood gracefully. "Yeah, suppose so."

Harry's nightmare was almost the same as the night before. It started earlier, with Draco leading him away from the Room of Requirement and up to the Astronomy Tower. He was hesitant to join Voldemort at first, but Draco convinced him. Draco was Voldemort's right hand man, Harry his second. Everything was Draco's fault, at least enough to assuage Harry's guilt when he woke up.

Draco was in his customary position, head on Harry's chest, an arm around him and legs intertwined. His left arm, the one with the Dark Mark, was tucked under his body, and Harry couldn't see it. He wanted to pull away, sort of, wanted the comfort even more. He loved Draco, loved him desperately. This Draco, the one who was so kind and sweet, who had a silly streak that rarely showed itself, the one who snuggled against him every night. But the Draco of last year, the Draco of sixth year, who had let the Death Eaters in, the Draco of all the years before that who had tormented him and his friends, what of that Draco? He couldn't have disappeared overnight, no matter how life changing the Battle had been, no matter what he had been repressing. Right?

Harry fell back asleep, eventually.

Sunday was worse, if possible. Draco remained at a distance, eating at the Slytherin table and studying—well, Harry didn't know where, but not in the Gryffindor common room. An eternity of homework, broken up only by meals. Again Hermione sent them to bed at eleven. Harry had finished his homework an hour or so earlier but had remained on the couch with his friends, leaning against Hermione and dozing.

The walk to his room was long and slow. The sphinx opened before he said a word. His rooms were dark, only a small glow coming from the bedroom fireplace. Draco was in bed, already asleep. Harry undressed and curled up next to him. This time his left arm was draped over the edge of the bed and, if Harry chose to do so, he could turn it over and see the Mark.

Instead, he went to sleep.

Monday at breakfast an announcement was made: classes were cancelled Tuesday and Wednesday. The second and the third. There wasn't any applause, not a single clap of the hands. Draco was sitting with them for breakfast and they walked to potions together.

Slughorn had them doing Laughter Liquids and made each and every one of them have a sip before they left. It was awful; the room was full of hollow, dead laughter, like what Dementors would sound like if they were capable.

Muggle Studies was uneventful. So uneventful, in fact, that halfway through the professor simply stopped teaching. Less than half the class noticed.

Lunch was quiet. There were hushed conversations, and the professors made an effort to sound as if everything was normal, but the weight of the day was heavy and stifling. Harry's eyes were fixed on where Voldemort had collapsed. Draco sat at his side, stiff and silent.

Hagrid also attempted to make them have fun. He brought in Jarveys, split the class into groups of four and didn't do much more than let them listen to the creatures swear for forty-five minutes. At one point Ron had a giggling fit, severely startling Harry, and it stopped as quickly it had started.

No homework had been assigned, and their two-day break started when the last class let out. The weather was beautiful, which seemed almost sacrilegious, but the Dumbledore's Army group still took advantage, sitting by the Black Lake under a large tree. Draco stayed, holding Harry's hand the entire time. Harry muttered a thank you under his breath and, despite the mumbling and quietness, it sounded very sincere indeed.

"Fred and George used to skip rocks here," Ron said, breaking the silence. "Not normal rocks, mind you. With each skip they'd send off a shower of sparks, and they made it nearly to the middle of the lake before sinking. They'd take dates out at night and show off. Like a miniature fireworks display."

"Colin Creevey took photographs of me during the second task here," Harry said. "Wading in, diving under the water with only my feet sticking out, surfacing with you and Gabrielle, toweling off, watching as my score was revealed."

"Professor Sprout and a handful of others were down there with me, collecting Mandrakes to throw on the Death Eaters," Neville said, pointing towards the greenhouses. "Mandrakes, Tentaculas and Snargaluffs. It would have been funny, if it wasn't so—so not."

"Dean and I hid behind this very tree," Seamus said. "Killing spiders as they spilled out of the Forest."

"It was an awful job," Dean said. "Really, really unpleasant."

"Even when they're dead, spiders are nasty. Legs sticking up in the air, blowing in the wind of all the spells flying around."

"We haven't got any outside stories," Padma said. "We fought inside."

"That window," Parvati countered, pointing at the castle. "I stunned a Death Eater and it fell out that window and died. I'd never killed anyone before. Lavender was with me, she held me afterwards. Just for a minute, before we got back to fighting. That was the last time I saw her."

"Voldemort came from there," Ginny said, pointing at a break in the trees. "Hagrid behind him, holding your body. Dozens and dozens of Death Eaters in tow, Voldemort yelled that you were dead, and they all laughed. Dad held me back, kept me from running to you." Ginny sighed. "Harry, I loved you so much, I almost died when I saw your body."

"I love you too, Gin," Harry said. "I love all of you. Neville, that speech, that was brilliant. My heart does beat for you, for all of you."

Ginny started crying and Ron moved over to sit next to her. Neville turned white except for two bright spots of color high on his cheeks. Aurora squeezed his hand, and his fingers went white as well, from the pressure. Parvati and Padma leaned against each other. Dean and Seamus looked at the ground. Hermione positioned herself between Ron and Harry, trying to comfort them both at the same time. Others were there, students Harry hardly knew, and they each had their own, silent mourning rituals. Draco stayed silent. Luna was looking up at the sky.

"Remember how beautiful the protection spells were?" she said dreamily. "All blue and sparkly. Everything was so dark and sad, but the sky was beautiful." She paused, and looked down at the grass. "Until the Death Eaters broke through, of course. Then everything was red. I never did like that color."

"Thirty-two hours," Draco said, startling those around him. "Roughly thirty-two hours until the Battle started. Thirty-four until Voldemort's ultimatum ran out and everything went to hell. More than it already had, I mean."

"Shut up," Ernie Macmillan said. "Nobody wants to hear from you."

"Leave him alone," Harry said without much conviction. "We did what we could, all of us."

"You gave everything," Ernie said angrily. "How can you be with a Death Eater after all you did? After all _he_ did?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Harry snapped.

"Like hell I don't," he replied. "I heard about what happened at the Manor, everyone did. Luna told us all. And—"

"Then you should know he saved my life," Harry interrupted. "If he had identified me, I'd have died then and there."

"Did he help?" Ernie continued. "Did he fight with you? What about at the Final Battle? You saved his life, I heard that, too. In exchange he ran away, coming back only when it was safe."

"It's not that simple!" Harry said irritably. "You can't just—"

"I can speak for myself, thank you," Draco interrupted smoothly. "You're right, I didn't do anything when it was most important to act. I never expect forgiveness for that. But I'm not a Death Eater, and I won't be called one. The Dark Mark was forced on me. I had no choice in the matter. I made a lot of wrong choices, but that was not one of them."

"Held down, were you?" Ernie asked snidely. "Physically unable to move as it was seared onto your skin?"

"No," Draco snapped. "I wasn't held down. Instead my aunt held her sister, my mum, at wand point. Fenrir Greyback stood next to my father, waiting for an excuse. Voldemort had his wand trained on me. Wormtail had my wand. So yeah, I was forced."

There was silence. Harry looked at Draco; he had never heard the story of how Draco got the Mark, only knew he never wanted it.

"Voldemort teased me," Draco continued. "He knew I didn't want it, and he knew I'd take it to save my family. First my mum's own sister performed the Cruciatus Curse on her. I watched as she screamed and contorted in pain, Bella laughing the whole time. Then Greyback broke my father's legs, each bone individually, grinding the broken pieces together. Did you see how he limped at the Battle? That'll never go away. There's only so much Skele-Grow can do for a man.

"My turn—well, that was easy. I got the Dark Mark. It didn't hurt, not then. It burned afterwards, when the Dark Lord called us. When he died it was like my skin was on fire. It's fading now, but I doubt it'll ever be gone."

Ernie was momentarily shocked into silence. All eyes were on Draco and still, he sat tall, even with the tears sparkling in his eyes.

"You could have fought," Ernie said eventually, weakly.

"Yes, I could have," Draco said. "I didn't. Anything else?"

Ernie looked around, but nobody would meet his eyes. "Forget it," he said, dropping his gaze.

"We've all got to forgive each other," Hermione said quietly, and Harry jerked. That was what Voldemort had said in his dream. Forgiveness above all else. But it was a dream, only a dream. "It's what Dumbledore would have wanted. All this rivalry, the petty fights, houses working against each other. What's the point? We're all on the same side in the end. Nobody here wanted Voldemort to win. We all, in our own ways, fought back."

"Hermione's right," Harry said. "It's time to let go. It's been a year now, two since Snape killed Dumbledore. Judging people based solely on the marks on their skin is just as bad as judging them by their blood status. Yeah, it seems a lot more voluntary than whose blood you've got, but you can't know. Voldemort recruited by torture, by the Imperius Curse, by killing. He had supporters who weren't branded as well. Pansy Parkinson tried to turn me over to Voldemort. Crabbe, he's dead now, but he tried to kill me in the Room of Requirement and set the place on fire using dark magic. Who knows how many more were working behind the scenes to bring him back to power? We'll never know."

Ernie looked properly abashed, and the rest of the group was lost in thought.

Draco squeezed Harry's hand, rested his head on his shoulder and his lips against his ears. "Thank you," he said as quietly as possible. "I thought you had changed your mind about me."

Harry shook his head sharply. "No."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I know."

Harry didn't go to Gryffindor Tower after dinner. He and Draco returned to their room alone, instructing the sphinx not to let anyone else in. Harry didn't want to think but he couldn't do anything else. With a lot of practice he let his mind go blank, letting the flames in the fireplace dance before him. Draco was sitting next to him, legs barely brushing. Harry wanted to hold his hand with the same ferocity he wanted to push him away and so continued to stay where he was.

At one point Harry conjured a vase of flowers on the table. It was held up by tiny feet, each inscribed with the name of someone who was lost that night. The number of feet increased as more names came to him until they merged into a circle, names separated only by lines carved into the stone.

Draco took a piece of parchment and penned the names of the Death Eaters who had died. Harry stared numbly at him. When he had finished, Draco hovered the list and dropped it into the fireplace. The edges curled, the center caught, and in a matter of moments the paper was reduced to ash.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Lives were lost on both sides," Draco said. "I hate them, Bella especially. But forgetting them, that's as wrong as what they did."

Harry let out a deep breath and nodded. "Let's go to bed, okay?" he said. "I hated coming back to find you already asleep."

"Not as much as I hated falling asleep without you," Draco said. "I didn't think you were coming back. It took me hours to fall asleep; think I got into bed around eight, as soon as I finished my homework. When I woke up to you…" Draco sighed. "I can't tell you what it meant."

Harry stood, offering his hand, and they walked into the bedroom together.


	60. Chapter 60: The Weight of it All

**A/N:** So here we are, on the Angst Train heading towards Angst Town in the state of Angst in the United States of Angst (USA, mind you). I don't have an exact count on how many chapters of it there are, but I **promise** it will have a happy ending. Really. So fluffy it'll make you cry fluffy tears of joyous fluff.

Copy and pasted from yesterday:

**IF ANY OF YOU HAVE ANY SPARE PLOT BUNNIES OR IDEAS YOU'D LIKE TO SEE WRITTEN, PLEASE PM ME!** Writing is my favorite thing ever and the best anti-anxiety/depression medication out there and I'm running low on ideas. I would absolutely adore to **write you your own, personal Drarry story, just for you**_. _Just send me a PM and, poof! It'll get written!

Addition: I forgot to mention, there are a few things I'm not a fan of. No m-preg, no Dark!Harry, and generally I stay away from AU. I've already gotten two suggestions (yay! Thank you!) and while I've only had a chance to skim them due to an awkwardly timed doctor's appointment (i.e. me running late), I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Keep 'em coming! And, answering **nannily's** question, the prompts can be as related or unrelated as you'd like, though they do need to stand alone, and I've already finished writing the story, so they can't be inserted in the middle. But if you've got an idea for later on, going off Ostriches, go for it!

Lastly, a personal apology to **cinnamin **for the angst. It'll get better hon, I promise.

**Chapter Sixty:**

_**The Weight of It All**_

_It was the Final Battle. Harry had his wand. There were glowing footprints before him and he followed them, leading himself through the battle. It was right this time. He wasn't hiding, he wasn't joining Voldemort. He was doing the right thing._

_Except walking. Walking was hard. His right leg was fine, but every time he lifted his left foot it was like walking through molasses. It must have been a stray curse from a Death Eater. It wasn't familiar, not like the path he was following, but he supposed he could have forgotten. So much had happened, a single curse could have passed unnoticed._

_Neville had given him an odd look when he led them up the passage from Aberforth's, but he didn't say anything. The rest of the room gave him the same confused looks, but that was par for the course. Ask a group of people to look for something that could have been anything, that would generate confusion._

_It occurred to him, as he left the room, that it couldn't have been a curse, not if he had been feeling it since the Hog's Head Inn._

_Luna was leading him to the Ravenclaw common room. The stairs were nearly impossible; with every other step he was on the edge of balance, nearly tumbling backwards, down the stairs._

_Luna paused in front of the doorknocker. "Harry, why is he with us? I don't think anyone will want to help you when you're like that."_

_Harry looked over both shoulders. "Who? What're you talking about?"_

_Luna pointed down at his left foot. A manacle wrapped around his ankle. A short, iron chain. Another manacle, around a pale ankle, shoving up the black dress pants. Draco sat on the floor, physically chained to Harry. His legs and his arms were crossed, and he looked very annoyed._

"_Malfoy?" Harry asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"_

"_Holding you back," Draco said, irritated. "You called me to that blasted wreck of an inn, you chained us together."_

_Harry frowned at him. "I did not."_

_Draco rolled his eyes. "I think it's obvious enough that you did, Potter."_

"_But why would I want to hold myself back?" Harry asked._

"_Fuck if I know."_

"_Harry, we're running out of time," Luna said. "We've got to move on."_

"_Right," Harry said, looking back at her. "Go on, lead the way."_

"_I'll just sit on the floor, then," Draco said snidely. "While you save the world."_

"_You could walk, you know," Harry said, shuffling over to the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. "You haven't got to be so contrary."_

"_And what, help the great Harry Potter?" he asked sarcastically. "When pigs fly, Scarhead."_

_Alecto Carrow appeared. Harry knew she were coming, and this time he and Luna both stunned her while Draco watched. "Not very clever, that," he said. "You'll just get everyone mad at you."_

"_Shut it!" Harry yelled. "I've got to do this! However we got like this—"_

"_You bound us together, I told you."_

"—_doesn't matter. Just _shut up!_"_

_McGonagall and the Carrow brother burst in. Harry couldn't hear what they were saying; Draco had started singing loudly and off-key, mangling the bloody singing Valentine from second year._

"_His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad—"_

"_Goddammit Malfoy! Shut your bloody trap!"_

"_His hair is as dark as blackboard—"_

"_I've got to listen to this! It's important!"_

"_He's really divine, I wish he was mine—"_

"_For fuck's sake! _Petrificus Totalus!"

_The chain around his ankle jerked as Draco collapsed to the floor, stiff as a board._

_Harry continued on with what he was supposed to be doing. It was even harder to move now; before Draco had been sliding along on his bum, but now he just jerked around, slamming into corners, slowing Harry even further. It was easier to perform the _Crucio _curse on Amycus at least; he certainly had enough fury to last a lifetime. Fury and annoyance. Stairs were nearly impossible; Draco's stiffened body slid in front of him, trying to drag him down the stairs._

_Snape fled through the window, just as he was supposed to._

_Harry's mind filled with images of the Inferi as Voldemort found the locket missing._

_The professors gathered their houses and prepared to battle._

_The statues and suits of armor came to life, ready to defend the castle._

_Harry returned to the Room of Requirement, very slowly, jerking Draco along behind him. He was still led by his footprints; they didn't seem to mind he was taking twice as long to get from one place to another. Harry gave those waiting in the Room instructions. Ginny looked at him as she used to, either not seeing or willfully ignoring Draco on the floor._

_They were in the Great Hall. McGonagall's speech washed over Harry; he had heard it all before, the last time he had been at the Final Battle._

_Voldemort's voice echoed through the castle. Draco stirred, and sat up._

"_Come on then," Draco said, standing for the first time. He tugged on the chain, and Harry nearly fell. "Let's go."_

"_I'm not going anywhere!" Harry said angrily. "I mean, I'm not going there! I've got to find the Diadem!" He was momentarily distracted by Fred and George walking by, and his heart tightened._

_Harry followed his footprints as quickly as he could with Draco pulling him in the opposite direction. He talked with Helena Ravenclaw, shouting to be heard over Draco, who had moved on from _His eyes were as green as a fresh pickled toad_ and started _Oh Potter you rotter_._

_Hagrid was by his side, they ran through the castle together, the first of the casualties fallen before them. Sprout and Neville ran past with arms full of Mandrakes. Fred ran by again._

_Harry met up with Ron and Hermione. They had destroyed the cup with a basilisk fang. Harry told them he thought the Diadem was in the Room of Requirement. Draco shouted obscenities at the trio, calling them everything from Mudblood to bloodtraitor to just plain old idiots. He made barfing noises and motions when Hermione kissed Ron._

_They entered the Room. Harry showed them the glowing footprints and they split up as they had before. Harry moved as quickly as he could._

_Crabbe's voice rang out and Harry swung around. Draco stood next to him, smirking._

"_We'll get you this time, Potter," he said. "Even if I am wandless, we'll get you."_

_Harry was in no mood to have a prolonged conversation with Malfoy, or the Slytherins standing before him. Zabini had taken Draco's place so there were still three boys. Crabbe collapsed a pile of rubble, blocking Ron from joining them._

_Draco yelled word for word what he had said that night: "No! If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!"_

_An argument broke out among the four Slytherins. Harry tried to jerk himself away, but Draco had grabbed his arm as well and was holding him firmly in place._

_Things picked up again. Crabbe tried to kill Hermione. Draco yelled at him to be careful not to kill Harry. Goyle was disarmed. Crabbe tried to kill Ron._

_Then the Fiendfyre. With Draco attached to him it was nearly impossible to run, but at least they both wanted to be moving in the same direction now. They found the brooms and took off; Harry had no reason to turn back, not with Draco rescued. Draco's arms were wrapped firmly around his waist, and a tingling sensation shot through him._

Bloody hell_, Harry muttered angrily. _Not this, not now_._

_They escaped, and the diadem was destroyed. Draco stayed as far away from Harry as he could manage._

_Harry saw Fred for the last time, watched as he disappeared under the explosion. He cried out in anguish as Draco laughed._

"_One less Weasel!" he shouted gleefully._

"Petrificus Totalus!_" Harry yelled, and once again Draco turned to nothing more than a board of wood._

_Harry looked into Voldemort's mind. He was in the Shrieking Shack with Lucius Malfoy. Snape was sent for._

_The rest of the Battle sped by until Harry was walking through the Forbidden Forest. Draco was still under the effects of the jinx, and navigating the overgrown path while dragging him was nearly impossible. Still, he forged ahead, desperate to make it before time ran out. Ghostly images of his friends and family were around him. Not one of them spoke of the boy chained to his leg._

_He stepped out of the woods into the clearing. He took off his invisibility cloak, left his wand in its folds. He saw Narcissa Malfoy's eyes widen at the sight of her son, who looked a wreck from all he had been dragged through._

_Harry let himself be killed._

_Harry's conversation with Dumbledore flew by. He was light, happy, felt like he could run a mile. Draco was no longer chained to him._

_When he woke on the forest floor, the first thing he noticed was Draco. They were still chained together, and he was very much awake. He kept yelling that he didn't want to be chained to a dead body. Voldemort ordered him to make sure Harry was dead and he did, doing a half-assed job before assuring the Dark Lord that yes, Harry was dead, and he wanted to be _let the fuck go_._

_Harry felt Hagrid lift him. He nearly dislocated both his knee and his hip as Draco's weight hung from him._

_They stopped. He listened as Voldemort gave his speech, as his friends cried for him, as Neville responded, so sweetly and so honestly Harry felt like he would cry._

_The scene exploded into battle. Harry covered himself and Draco in his Invisibility Cloak, constantly fighting with Draco to keep them covered. He saw the fighting, watched as Molly Weasley killed Bellatrix. He smiled triumphantly, while Draco let out a groan of loss._

_And then the final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort. Draco remained silent, sitting on the floor as they talked and circled, Harry once more dragging him along._

_Voldemort and Harry raised their wands at the same time and Harry knew something was wrong before he even cast the spell. The wand in his hand, it wasn't right. He had grown used to Draco's hawthorn wand, how it felt in his hand, and this wasn't it. The Killing Curse was still averted, barely, but the Elder Wand flew into Draco's hand, not Harry's._

_Harry gaped down at him. "What—"_

"_I switched our wands," Draco said smugly. "That's my mum's wand, not mine. I disarmed you. The Elder Wand answers to me now."_

"_Give it to me, Draco," Voldemort commanded. "Let me finish the boy."_

"_In a minute." Draco pointed the wand at the chain holding him to Harry. "_Reducto!_"_

_A shower of sparks few up and, when they settled, Harry saw the chain was as intact as ever._

_Draco looked furious. "_Diffindo_!"_

_Still, they remained tether to each other._

"Avada Kedavra!_"_

_Harry didn't know what that was meant to accomplish, but the chain certainly didn't break._

"_What the bloody hell!?" Draco yelled._

_Voldemort laughed, or what passed for a laugh. "A bond stronger than magic. Harry has had much experience with this ancient magic, haven't you?"_

_Harry's eyes widened and he instinctually jerked away from Draco. "No," he said. "No, it's not, I don't—"_

"_He was the one who chained us," Draco said. "Are you—are you saying the precious Boy Who Lived has fallen in love with me?" Harry looked on, horrified, as Draco and Voldemort burst into laughter. "That is too priceless!" Draco gasped. "I love it. Guess you're with us now, Potter, whether you like it or not."_

"_No!" Harry yelled. "No, I'll never be with you! I hate you! Let me go!"_

"_Harry, don't you see?" Voldemort said. "You've cast the spell. The power to break it lies only with you."_

_Harry jerked away._

_He grabbed the chain, pulling desperately._

_He hit it with every curse he could think of._

_At one point he tried to sever his foot so the manacle could slide off. The slices disappeared as quickly as he could cast them._

"_Stop fighting," Voldemort said. "Nothing would behoove me more than to have you on my side."_

"_Never!"_

_There were strong hands on his face, and suddenly Draco's mouth was pressed against his, lips hard and insistent, shoving his tongue into his mouth. Harry gasped. Without thinking about it he grabbed Draco's hair, pulling him even closer. The tingling was back, flooding his body, pooling in his stomach and groin. Draco gave his lower lip a final bite and pulled away, both boys breathing heavily._

"_What do you say, Potter?" he asked, pupils blown. "Going to act on that damned chain? Or will I spend the rest of my life dragging you around like you did to me tonight."_

"_With you," Harry said, pulling Draco in for another kiss. "With you, always you."_

"_You consent to join me, then?" Voldemort asked._

"_Anything," Harry said. "Anything to be with Draco."_

Harry woke slowly, peaceably. Draco was in his arms and Harry nuzzled his head. Together, like they always should have been. Anything to be with him.

Harry's heart stopped and he jerked away, out of Draco's arms. What—that dream, what had he done? Draco had tortured him, held him back, made it almost impossible to do what needed to be done. Even with the glowing footprints to follow, Harry had barely made it.

And then—then he had abandoned his cause at the last minute, over a stupid kiss?

Draco muttered, reaching out for Harry. Harry nearly fell out of bed in his haste to not be touched. It was morning, the morning of the Final Battle. Light streamed in from the window, leaving no shadows to hide behind, basking his dream in vivid clarity. He had fought against Draco. Literally every step of the way he had fought. For what? To be brought down by a single kiss? Since when was good sex a reason to abandon all that was good and right in the world?

"Harry?" Draco asked, opening his eyes. "Come back to bed."

"No," Harry said. He started getting dressed, pulling on his clothes with a vengeance. "I'm going for a walk. I've got to think."

Draco stayed silent for a moment. "Think about us?"

"Yeah." Harry knew the word, that one word, was the worst thing he could have said. He didn't care.

"Are you coming back?" Draco asked quietly. Harry thought he could hear tears in his voice, but he didn't look over to confirm.

"I need to think," Harry repeated.

"Look at me for a second before you leave, would you?"

Harry, now fully dressed, turned to face him. "What do you want?"

Draco was crying, barely, a single track of tears sliding down his cheek. "It's the Final Battle, right? That I didn't fight with you?"

Harry felt something in him snap. "Yeah, it's the bloody Final Battle," he yelled. "It's the Final Battle, it's when you repaired the bloody Vanishing Cabinet, it's when you stood by and let your aunt torture my best friend. It's the Potter Stinks buttons from fourth year. The goddamned Inquisitional Squad. It's when you called Hermione a mudblood and laughed when Ron's curse backfired. It's the Dark Mark on your arm. It's how you only came back once the fighting had stopped. It's when I saved your life, _twice_, and you never thanked me. It's when you were going to kill Dumbledore. I don't fucking care if you lowered your wand or not, or who was making you do what. You can't just—just—" Harry stammered, cutting off. He was vaguely aware that he was crying, too. "Just _fuck_, Draco. You're scum without a backbone, a petty little boy who made my life hell just for the fun of it. I fell for you, for your repentant act, for those beautiful grey eyes. I sold myself out so I could fuck the hottest boy at Hogwarts. I defended you against Ernie Macmillan yesterday, the day before the Final Battle. If it's any consolation, I hate myself more than you."

Draco had turned away, unable to keep eye contact. "Fine," he said hollowly. "If that's how you feel, leave."

"It's not a matter of how I _feel_," Harry said angrily. "It's a matter of what you _did_. I didn't make up any of that. You did those things, whether you want to think about it or not. For all I know, everything that's been between us is just an act."

Draco's eyes locked with Harry's. Watery grey and watery green. "Don't you fucking dare say that," he said, low and angry. "I love you. I've loved you forever."

"Bullshit," Harry snapped. "You don't treat someone you love the way you treated me. I don't care how immature you were, you just don't fucking do that."

"You knew all of this coming in," Draco said, starting to get angry. "You know better than any what I did. _You _forgave me. _You_ said the past is the past, and it doesn't matter anymore."

"I was wrong." Harry slammed open his bedside table drawer and shoved all the crap aside until he found what he was looking for. He took the coin and threw it at Draco. "Take your fucking motto and crest. I'm not part of your family, and I'll never be." He grabbed his wand and stormed out of the room before Draco could reply. He slammed both the door to their rooms and the sphinx portrait and was halfway to Gryffindor Tower when he broke down completely. He slid down the wall, sobbing, hands in his hair, wand falling to the side.

Harry's mind was fighting with two questions: what the fuck was he doing, walking away from Draco today of all days; and why the hell hadn't he done it earlier? Already it felt like part of him was gone, had been ripped away leaving a gaping hole. He was gasping, trying to fill that emptiness with something, anything. He needed Draco, needed him back in his arms. He would get up, go apologize, promise he'd never say anything like that ever again. It was the day, he'd say, that was all. Everyone was looking for someone to blame, and Draco had been so close and so easy.

Every time he started to rise something pushed him back down. All those things he had accused Draco of, those were real, they had happened, along with a hundred others. Even if he set aside his role in the war, which Harry wasn't about to do, Draco had been nothing but awful to him. Years and years of systematic abuse, followed by what he did in the war. What was wrong with him? Even more, what was wrong with _Harry_? How could he have thought he loved him, that he needed him? Was he so desperate for approval that he'd stoop to get it even from Draco Malfoy? Did he have such a hero complex he needed to rescue him? What the _fuck_ had possessed him to be with him?

His heart continued to ache as the thoughts flew through his head, to break, shatter into a million pieces. That emptiness grew and grew until he was gone, nothing but a black hole of pain and confusion. He was going to get up and go back to Draco, beg for forgiveness. He was going to go to Gryffindor Tower and never speak to him again.

Harry was going to sit, exactly where he was, until the world ended.

Of all the people to find him Amelia Whisp was probably the best, even if he hated her in that moment, for hauling him to his feet and dragging him down to her office. He was pushed into a chair and handed a bar of chocolate, which he ate without argument. He wasn't crying anymore, didn't seem to have any tears left, and he was numb, completely beyond feeling. The chocolate sat like a lead cannonball in his stomach. Whisp sat in the chair next to him, rather than on the other side of her desk, but she didn't speak, or ask him what happened.

Even if she was the best one to find him, that was hardly high praise. She hadn't been here, not for the Battle, not for the war, not for his relationship with Draco before this year. What did she know? How could she possibly begin to understand what he was going through?

"I hate myself," Harry said eventually. "For loving that piece of shit. How can I love him and hate him so much at the same time?"

"The world can be an unfortunate place," Whisp said. "One never knows what form love will take."

"Fuck love." Harry was vaguely aware he shouldn't be talking to a professor like that, but he didn't have the energy to stop himself. "I never want to see him again. I never want to see _myself_ again. I can't believe—Ron and Hermione accepted us. So did Neville and Luna. How…"

"Friendship is the strongest bond we have," Whisp replied.

"Friends are stupid," Harry replied contrarily. "They should have stopped me."

"Did you try to stop Ron and Hermione from becoming engaged?" she asked.

Harry stared angrily at her. "That's not the same," he said. "They're not—"

"Not what?" Whisp asked. "I know far more than you would think, Harry. Ron didn't speak to you and Hermione over and over again, most importantly when you were searching for Horcruxes. Hermione is a know-it-all, controlling brat."

Harry gaped at her. "What—don't talk about—"

"And you, Harry Potter, are self-absorbed, obnoxiously stubborn, an obstinate do-gooder who sees everything in black and white," Whisp continued.

"Hey!" Harry said indignantly. "I'm not—I mean, I am—sometimes—but—"

"My point is we all have faults," Whisp said. "We are imperfect beings. You can't expect more from anyone, yourself included."

"I'm not going to forgive him," Harry said stubbornly. "Not again."

"Did he do anything to change your mind?" she asked.

"No," Harry grumbled. "But—"

"Did you change, then?" Whisp asked. "Did you just wake up one morning and decide the boy you love is pure evil?"

"No," Harry said angrily. "Well, not exactly, it was more—"

"Today is no different from any other day," Whisp said. "No matter what it feels like. This day, this year, does not change you. Last year, yes. In more ways than I'm sure you know. But today? Today is nothing."

Harry wanted to curse her. She wasn't _there_, she didn't _understand_. Of course today was different. His friends had died today.

_Which Draco had nothing to do with_, a little voice in the back of his head spoke up.

"No," Harry repeated. "No."

"No what?" Whisp asked.

"I don't know!" Harry yelled. "I don't fucking know, just no! Stop telling me what to do, you have no idea what I've been through. Forget Draco, forget what he did to me. Even without that, I've still been through more than you could possibly imagine!"

"You forget there was a first wizarding war, Harry," Whisp said, a bit sharply. "I was not at Hogwarts for the Final Battle, but I have seen my fair share of war, and the devastation it causes."

"I'm not talking about that," Harry said. "I'm being a selfish prick. Forget everyone who died for me, forget their families, fuck all that. What _I_ was asked to do, what I was _made_ to do, it wasn't bloody _fair_. I didn't ask for this, I never wanted it." He was crying again. Dumbledore's face was just out of reach, the man who had expected so much from him. "Fuck, I just want a normal life."

"Then go out and take it!" Whisp said forcefully, matching Harry's passion. "You want a normal life, a normal relationship? Then march yourself back up to the East Tower and take Draco back. Move in together after school. Get married, have kids. Have a normal life."

"I can't!" Harry yelled back. "No matter what I do, I'll never be normal!"

Whisp sat back in her seat, a small smile on her face. "Exactly."

Harry glared at her. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"You're never going to be normal," she said. "Your relationship with Draco is far from it, but that suits you. You could never settle down with a Weasley. You'll never be happy without that spark."

"A spark of hatred?" Harry spat. "I'll never be happy unless I'm hating someone?"

"Oh, come off it," Whisp snapped back. "You don't hate Draco. I might only have been here for a year, but I have never seen anything even resembling hate between you two."

"I can't forgive him," Harry said. He must have said it a hundred times by now, but it bore repeating. "I can't forgive him. I can't let him go, and I can't forgive him."

"Then it seems you have some thinking to do."

Harry sighed wearily. "Yeah."

"Go on, then," she said, gesturing to the door. "Go think. And Harry, do try not to collapse in the middle of hallways. It alarms the other students."

Harry flushed. "Yes, Professor."

Ron and Hermione found him hours later in the Astronomy Tower. Hermione set a plate of sandwiches down, offering without forcing. They flanked him, one on each side, and Harry closed his eyes in an odd, tumultuous peace. They stayed silent for a very, very long time before Ron spoke.

"Malfoy came looking for you," he said. "Slammed on the Fat Lady and screamed at us until Aurora got sick of it and opened the door."

Just the mention of his name, his _last_ name, for Merlin's sake, was enough to bring tears to his eyes. "Yeah?" Harry asked, working to keep his voice even. "What'd he want?"

"Dunno," Ron said. "He wouldn't say. He just wanted to talk to you."

"And Professor Whisp found us at lunch," Hermione added. "She wanted to know how you were. When she heard we hadn't seen you—blimey, Harry, I've never seen her that angry. She threatened to dock a hundred points each if we didn't find you."

"We were going to anyways, mind you," Ron said quickly. "We're not just here cause of a professor."

Harry smiled slightly. "Yeah, I know."

Hermione hesitated before asking, "What happened between you and Draco? He looked a wreck when he showed up. He had been crying. And Harry, his hair was a mess. All corkscrews and odd angles."

Tears started to fall at the image. He loved making Draco's hair look like that. For him, though, only for him. "I dunno," Harry mumbled. "It was my fault. I yelled at him."

"For what?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged miserably. "I dunno. Everything. Running away during the Battle, fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, not fighting with us." Harry flinched. "For the Potter Stinks badges he made fourth year. I don't remember what else."

"Did—did he say anything?" Hermione asked quietly.

"He told me he loved me," Harry said wretchedly. "He told me he loved me, and I accused him of it all being an act."

"It's not," Hermione said firmly. "You know that, right?"

Harry shrugged again. "I dunno. Maybe."

"Blimey, Harry, I can't stand the git, and I can see that," Ron said. "You're perfect for each other. You—"

"How can he be perfect for me?" Harry interrupted angrily. "What's that supposed to mean? That I'm a bloody Death Eater?"

Ron started at him. "N—no, of course not."

"He just meant you seemed really happy together," Hermione said.

"I shouldn't have been," Harry said determinedly. "Imagine what my parents would think. Sirius, Remus, Tonks. Dumbledore. They'd hate me."

"They wouldn't," Hermione replied. "They'd love you, and they'd love him, because you love him."

"I don't love him!" Harry yelled. His voice echoed around the tower, pushing back at him. "_Fuck_. I don't know."

"I do," Ron said. "And, mate, you love him. Sorry to break it to you, but it's the truth."

"He's right," Hermione said.

"He stood right there," Harry said, pointing at a spot on the floor. "With his wand raised, ready to kill Dumbledore."

"And he lowered his wand," Hermione said.

"Sure, of course he did," Harry said angrily. "Just like I did, every time I almost killed Dumbledore. No big deal."

"Oi!" Ron yelled suddenly. "Wait, he gave me something to give you. Hang on, I've got it here somewhere." He went through his pockets, pulling out bits of lint and parchment before he found what he was looking for. "Here," Ron said, holding out the coin Harry had thrown at Draco this morning. "He made me promise to give it to you."

Harry stared at it, his sight remarkably clear despite his tears. "I don't want it," he said numbly.

"Take it," Ron repeated. "I'm going to get cursed to hell and back if you don't."

Harry grabbed the coin and threw it across the tower. It clattered to the floor, spinning on its edge before falling with a resounding clink. "I'm not a bloody Malfoy," Harry snapped. "That's not my damned coin."

Hermione stood up, picked up the coin and slipped it into her pocket. "For when you change your mind," she said, sitting back down.

"I'm not going to change my fucking mind," Harry spat.

"Remember when Ron left?" Hermione asked quietly. "We were so upset. We thought he hated us, that he would never come back."

"But I was trying to find you the whole time," Ron said. "I knew I was wrong as soon as I apparated away, but it was too late."

"_Merlin_, you two," Harry groaned. "Draco's not upset, he does hate me. And I'm not bloody wrong."

"He is upset," Hermione said. "Anyone in Gryffindor Tower can tell you that. You have no idea how upset he is."

"Not like how we were," Harry said. "We missed you, Ron. We cried because we missed you. Draco hates me."

Ron shook his head. "I know what he looks like when he hates me," he said. "Believe me, that's a look I'm very familiar with. He doesn't hate you."

"Well I hate him," Harry said stubbornly. "For everything he did."

"Harry—" Ron started, but Hermione shook her head. Harry's heart sank. They had given up on him, too. He had forced them into it, had pushed them away, but he hadn't _actually_ wanted to stop arguing with them.

"Don't leave," Harry whispered. "Please, stay with me."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Of course."

"We're not going anywhere," Ron assured him.

"Right."

Harry spent the night in Gryffindor Tower. He insisted on eating dinner in the kitchens, which Ron and Hermione joined him for. Harry glanced briefly into the Great Hall as they walked back upstairs, but Draco was nowhere to be seen. That was probably good; Harry would either curse him or grab him and never let go. They returned to Gryffindor Tower and sat in silence. The whole house was in the common room, and despite how crowded it was, Harry had never heard it so silent. He sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, Hermione next to him and Ron on her other side. Someone, Harry didn't bother to identify the voice, offered Harry their seat but he rejected it. The heat was almost unbearable at this range, and that was how Harry liked it.

Slowly the room emptied. Ron and Hermione stayed with Harry until they were the only three left. Hermione pulled him into a standing position and they both hugged him tightly. He was walked over to a couch, pushed down, and Hermione conjured a fluffy pillow and a soft blanket for him.

"If you need anything…"

"Yeah," Harry said blankly as he lay down. "I'll get you."

She kissed his forehead. "Sleep well, Harry."

He didn't.


	61. Chapter 61: Return to the Burrow

**A/N:** Okie, this is the last angsty chapter! Promise! The next one is really, ridiculously fluffy. For reals.

Again, if anyone wants to **send me plot bunnies**, I'd love it! I've already gotten a ton of great ideas and I can't wait to see what else you guys come up with!

And…er…I just woke up so I'm a little short on remembering what I'm supposed to be typing. Yeah, I'm really not sure. So enjoy!

Oh oh! I remember one of those things I was supposed to say! At this very moment, I'm at 588 reviews. Think we can bump it up to 600? I do so love even numbers.

**Chapter Sixty-One:**

_**Return to the Burrow**_

First of all, Harry didn't sleep. He curled up into the fetal position and cried, cried for hours. He hadn't slept without Draco in so long he couldn't remember when he had last been alone. The couch felt so terribly empty. That gaping coldness in his chest expanded to fill the room, drawing the heat and the breath like a Dementor's Kiss. He had become a Kiss, leeching everything that was good in the world and twisting it into something dark and horrible and strange. And lonely, terribly, terribly lonely.

When he did fall asleep he had nightmares, one dissolving into the next in a never-ending reel. The Final Battle, when he joined Voldemort. Being chained in place to watch as Hermione was tortured. Watching again and again as Dobby died. A flash of green and his mum crumpling before him. Dumbledore tumbling from the Astronomy Tower.

Draco's eyes. Hard and cold, like chips of ice. Unforgiving. He turned and walked away, time and time again, no matter how Harry begged and yelled and needed. Then Draco would be in front of him again, and the process would start over. Nothing changed. Nothing ever, ever changed.

Harry jerked awake as the sun came up. It splashed over the edge of the window like it had in the Great Hall a year ago, nearly blinding him. He squinted, pulling the blanket over his head. He wiped at his face; he had been crying in his sleep. His face was crusty and gross. He was sweaty and smelly, and looked even worse than usual. Everything was rumpled and sticking out and it all pointed to one thing—he needed a shower.

Harry dragged him upstairs into the boy's bathroom and spent a very long time trying to wash away his feelings before remembering that wasn't how it worked. He did a quick cleaning and smoothing spell on his clothes before getting dressed. A glance in the mirror assured him that he looked just as bad as he had before his shower, only now his hair looked like a wet dog. That was just the look he was going for. He plodded back down to the common room and looked around. Nobody was here, he had the room to himself. What did he intend on doing with himself? He could get Ron and Hermione. He could spend another day by himself. He supposed he could go find Whisp and get more of what she considered advice. It wasn't that he thought he needed it, it was just something to do.

And then he had an idea. A bit of a brilliant idea, in fact. He quickly left the common room and hurried down to the third floor.

"Harry Potter," he said to the gargoyle. "I've got to talk to—"

"You're allowed," the gargoyle said, moving to the side. "You're on the list."

"Right," Harry said, not bothering to ask what list. He took the stairs two at a time despite their movement, and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Harry went inside, standing instead of sitting in front of McGonagall's desk. "That favor you offered me," he said. "Can I still use it?"

"I had a suspicion you might ask today," she said. "What is it you want?"

"I want to go to the Weasleys," Harry said. "For the day. Or maybe the night, I'm not sure. I'll apparate out of Hogsmeade, you don't have to set up the Floo or anything. I promise to be back in time for classes tomorrow."

McGonagall eyed him shrewdly. "There isn't much under this roof that escapes my knowledge, Mr. Potter, especially when professors are called in the wee hours of the morning to console a hysterical Harry Potter."

Harry flushed. "I'm feeling much better now," he said. "I've just got to—"

"It would not have surprised me to hear that," she continued as if Harry hadn't spoken at all. "Yesterday of all days, you of all people, I assumed there would be something of the sort. But when it reached my ears it was not the battle that had you upset—"

"Yes it was!" Harry yelled, interrupting the headmistress. She raised her eyebrows, and Harry dropped his gaze. "Sorry, Professor. I just meant—"

"I am quite sure you were as haunted by the battle as the rest of us, if not more so," she continued. "But that was not the only reason for you to be found crumpled in the hallway, was it?"

Harry kept his eyes down. "No, Professor."

"In theory I have no issue with granting your request," she said. "But perhaps you have more pressing business here, in the castle."

"I don't," Harry said firmly.

She sighed. "Very well then, Mr. Potter. You may leave. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are welcome to go with you, if you'd like. As is—"

"There's no one else," Harry interrupted. "Thank you, Professor. And thank Professor Whisp for me."

"I believe you owe her a great deal of thank yous," she said. "But yes, I will pass this one along." Harry was almost out the door when she called after him. "You are famous for your Gryffindor traits, including bravery and stubbornness. Don't let one get in the way of the other."

Harry didn't have an answer to that. He ran back up to Gryffindor Tower, woke Ron and Hermione and told them about his favor. They dressed quickly and made their way to Hogsmeade without talking. Harry was thinking about George, about all of the losses the Weasleys had suffered. But it was better to be with family, better than anything else he could think of. They apparated as soon as they were out of the gates.

To say they were well received at the Weasleys was to say that the North Pole might be a bit chilly. Mrs. Weasley burst into tears as soon as she saw them and pulled the three into a tight hug. She ushered them inside and fed them a gigantic breakfast. Mr. Weasley stumbled into the kitchen in rumpled work clothes and nodded to the trio as if it was nothing.

"I haven't got time for a big breakfast," he said, giving Molly a quick kiss on the cheek. "Kingsley's got us all on heightened security and extra raids, just in case anyone thinks it'd be clever to cause a scene today."

"Of course, dear," she said. "Here, I've made you a piece of toast and a mug of coffee to bring with you."

"Thanks, love." He stuffed the toast into his mouth, grabbed the coffee and, somehow, managed to say Ministry of Magic very clearly around his food. He disappeared into a column of flames.

"He'll be back in time for dinner," Mrs. Weasley said. "I made him promise last night. You will still be with us then, won't you?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He hadn't thought he'd be able to eat, but the scrambled eggs tasted like home, and the orange juice was revitalizing.

"Fleur and Bill are coming after work," Mrs. Weasley said. "Charlie couldn't get off work, and Romania's so far. Percy will be coming home with your dad. Ginny wasn't allowed with you?"

Harry looked guiltily at his eggs. It hadn't occurred to ask if she could come. "Er, no, just eighth years."

"Of course, dear, I should have guessed." She paused. "George is in his room," she added quietly. "I was going to bring him breakfast, but I thought he might rather sleep."

None of the trio answered. Harry still felt this was a better idea than sulking around Hogwarts, though perhaps he had misestimated how much better.

"Where's Draco?" Mrs. Weasley asked, busying herself with the dishes. "I would have thought you'd be inseparable today of all days."

"Mum, be quiet," Ron muttered. "Don't."

She whirled around. "Ronald Weasley, don't you dare speak to your mother like that." Then she took in Harry's expression, and what Ron had said, and her face fell. "Oh, Harry, dear, I'm so sorry. Here, have some extra bacon." She slid a few more pieces onto Harry's place, but he had lost his appetite.

"It's fine," Harry said. "We just wanted—I thought—family…"

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley said. "Finish up, and then we can get started on degnoming the garden."

All three groaned. Suddenly it felt much more like any other day at the Weasleys.

Ron went upstairs after lunch with a plate of food. He didn't come back down for quite some time and, when he did, his eyes were red and puffy and the plate was gone. "George said he'll be down for dinner," Ron announced thickly.

"Did you send him love?" Mrs. Weasley asked. She was sitting in a rocking chair and knitting.

"Yeah, course." He sighed and collapsed on the couch between Harry and Hermione. "What now, then?"

"Let's go for a fly," Harry said. "I've missed your Cleansweeps."

Ron snorted. "Sure you have."

"No, really," Harry insisted. "The smooth action, the way they do just what you want—I couldn't ask for a better broom."

"Shove off," Ron said, though he looked considerably better than before. "But fine, if you insist. 'Mione, you'll come with us, won't you?"

"Of course," she said. "Keep away, then? Since there are only three of us?"

"Like always."

Flying, a few games of chess, and then sitting around telling stories, like they had on the lawn yesterday. These were more light-hearted; Mrs. Weasley told the story of how she met Mr. Weasley, Ron recounted stories of how Fred and George tormented him when he was little—and not so little, he was quick to add, Harry explained about how he first saw Charlie in the woods before the first task and, a bit sadly and more than a bit happily, Hermione reminded them of when Fred and George left in fifth year, filled with fireworks and spectacle.

"Best decision I ever made."

They all swung around to see George in the door of the living room. He was wearing pajama bottoms, one of Fred's Weasley sweaters, and had a blanket wrapped around him.

"It was like fate, with Harry giving us his winnings from the Tournament and the Umbridge being the way she was. We got the joke shop started before it got too bad, y'know. And before—" George cut off, sitting in an empty chair. "Mum, could I have some tea?"

She conjured a cup, hovered in the kettle and poured him a mug. "There you are, dear."

"Thanks." George sipped the tea. "Remember when Fred and I first invented Canary Creams? There were feathers everywhere for weeks."

Ron snickered. "Filch got so pissed at you, though of course he could never prove anything."

"Nah, he never could." George paused. "Except, y'know, for all those other times."

Hermione started laughing, and it was infectious. Soon they were all giggling, lost in memories of their pranks.

"And all the Howlers I sent you," Mrs. Weasley said. "Not that they ever did any good."

"We thought them a great joke," George said. "The whole castle would go quiet as you yelled at us; it was brilliant. Even the detention wasn't so bad. It became a sort of joke: 'Oh, yes, Fred and George are in detention again. Must've set the castle on fire.' There'd be bets on what we'd done, though Lee would always fix it so he'd win, and then split the profit with us."

Ron gave George a look. "I lost ten Galleons to you once!" he spurted. "Everyone insisted you had set off a dung bomb in the teacher's lounge, especially Lee! I should've known he was in on it. You owe me that money back."

"Sure, Ronnie-kins. Will leprechaun gold suit?" Another bout of laughter swept the room, stopped only when George asked, "So, where's that Malfoy ferret?"

Everyone fell silent, and Mrs. Weasley said, "None of that now, dear. Care for some more tea?"

"You've only just poured it, I've got half a mug left," George said, eyes fixed on Harry. "What happened?"

"They got into a fight, that's all," Hermione said, voice high and fast. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Harry?" George asked as if he hadn't heard. "Is that it? Just a fight?"

Harry shrugged. "Suppose. We'll have to see, I guess."

A fire flashed across George's face. "No," he said. "No waiting and seeing. If you've found someone, like Ron has, you don't bloody let them go. People lose each other every day to things beyond their control. Fix it."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "George, I don't know—"

"Shut up," George interrupted. "Anyone who's spent half a minute with you two can see it, and I had to suffer through half of Christmas. I swear to Merlin, Harry, if you don't fix it I'll never speak to you again." George turned back to his tea, tears leaking out. "You have no idea how easy it is to lose someone."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, not to George.

There was a rushing sound from the kitchen, and Mr. Weasley appeared, followed by Percy.

"Dinner?" Mr. Weasley asked. "Never had time for lunch. I'm starved."

"Aren't you three supposed to be in school?" Percy asked.

Ron groaned. "Sod off," he snapped.

"Classes were cancelled today," Hermione said a bit more pleasantly. "We got special permission from Headmistress McGonagall. She owed Harry a favor."

"Yes, I heard," Percy said. "Very good job, Harry, on teaching. It was all over the Ministry. Everyone was very impressed."

Harry looked at the floor. "Er, thanks."

Mr. Weasley moved to where George sat and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Dinner, Molls?"

She sighed heavily. "You ask so much of me," she said, half-joking. "Degnome the garden, clean the house, do the knitting, feed the family."

"I'll help," Hermione said, jumping up. "What are we having?"

"Pizza," George said. "It was Fred's favorite."

There was a moment of silence. "Right, pizza," Mrs. Weasley said. "Come on, Hermione, you can get the dough rising." They bustled into the kitchen, leaving the men behind.

"We degnomed the garden," Harry said. "Ron, Hermione and me."

Mr. Weasley smiled wanly. "She didn't mean it, not to worry." He let out a huge yawn and collapsed into the rocking chair. "Work was hell," he said.

"Father!" Percy gasped. "Don't say that about the Ministry!"

Eye rolling all around. "Everyone was so tense. Amos Diggory accidentally set a Fwooper free, and the whole Ministry had to track it down before it drove us mad." He sighed. "Not convinced it didn't." His eyes lit up. "But look, I've got you a gift." He pulled out a crumpled, bright purple feather. "I'll have it made into a quill. Exploding Snaps after dinner; winner gets to keep it."

Percy's eyes widened behind his glasses. "Did you _steal _that?"

"Amos gave it to me, nice and proper," Mr. Weasley said with a sigh. "Kingsley was even there, supervising the whole thing. A few of us got them. Me, Amos, Kingsley, Perkins. A bit of a bright spot."

"The rest of us weren't having such fun," Percy said haughtily. "Non-stop raids all day."

Harry's stomach clenched. "Did the Malfoys—?"

"No, not this time," Mr. Weasley said. "They're still cleared from the trial. Why's Draco not with us?"

Harry sighed. He couldn't handle explaining it again. "I've got to go to the loo," he muttered, slipping out of the living room as Ron launched into the explanation. Harry could just start to hear George going off on another rant about losing people when he shut the door. He looked at himself in the mirror and splashed water on his face. He looked awful. He stayed in the loo for a few minutes before making himself go back out.

Bill and Fleur arrived, and it seemed they had already been told not to mention Draco, because they only gave him a hug and asked about schoolwork. George, Ron, Bill and Mr. Weasley set up a large table outside and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione and Fleur hovered their dinner out. Pizza, a salad and rolls, all prepared in no more than ten minutes. It was far better pizza than Harry had ever had, and dinner was almost happy and relaxed.

The almost was a tension in the air, and George was still wrapped in a blanket with his cup of tea, though he seemed amicable enough. Percy was just as snooty as ever, lecturing Harry on just how many N.E.W.T.s he'd need to work in the Ministry and how very important they were. Harry ducked out of this conversation by reminding Percy that Hermione also planned to work at the Ministry, earning himself a nasty look from his friend.

Dessert consisted of black forest cake containing many more pieces than the small cake would seem to hold. They ate slowly and stayed outside much longer than necessary; spirits were finally, _finally_ high, and nobody seemed keen to break the spell. It was full dark and they were still outside, a series of lights conjured by Bill hovering around the table. The sky was clear and the stars were bright in the dark skies. Harry realized with a jolt he could recognize Draco's constellation; when had that happened? He quickly lowered his eyes.

There was a quick game of Exploding Snaps when they finally went inside and, much to everyone's annoyance, Percy won. He insisted it wasn't proper for an employee of his level to have such a fancy quill and passed it onto George as subtly as he could, which consisted of him awkwardly shoving it into George's hands while muttering something about needing brightness in his life.

Ron, Hermione and Harry all crammed into Ron's room for the night. Ron and Hermione shared a bed, which made Harry a bit uncomfortable, though the cot he was sleeping on was far more worse. It smelled like mothballs, had a very hard lump in the middle and swung with his every move. Hermione set an alarm for very early so they wouldn't miss their first class. They fell into silence almost immediately, but Harry didn't think any of them slept until very late. He himself spent a while crying, sometimes for Fred, sometimes for Draco (which made him feel very shallow indeed). He heard Ron sniffling in the wee hours of the morning and whispered comfort from Hermione. Harry used to have whispered comfort, once. Before he ruined everything.

They woke at the ungodly hour of six. Hermione dragged them down to breakfast, which consisted of blueberry pancakes, homemade marmalade and, once again, bacon. Harry was very pleased, and almost forgot about the early hour in the face of such delicious food. There was plenty of coffee to go around, which also helped. After goodbyes they left, walking outside of the protection spells before apparating to Hogsmeade.

Harry stopped them just before they crossed the gates.

"Guys," Harry said quietly. "We've got potions."

"Yes," Hermione said, rather difficultly. "That's why we're—oh."

"Oh what?" Ron asked.

"I've got a potion's partner," Harry said quietly.

"Oh," Ron echoed.

"What do I do?" Harry asked.

"Do you want him back?" Hermione asked.

"I don't—" Harry stopped. He wanted to say that he didn't know, or even better, no, but there wasn't any point in lying anymore. "More than anything."

"Then tell him," Hermione said. "Come on, we're going to be late for class."

It was an awful walk back to the castle, Harry convinced he was going to throw up. The closer they drew to the dungeons the worse his stomach got. He was shaking terribly when he entered the classroom, even worse when he saw Draco was already there. Mustering all his courage, Harry sat down next to him.


	62. Chapter 62: Ask me

**A/N: **And then there was no more angst! Hooray!

Also, really, since this is coming to a close remarkably quickly (only two more chapters, you guys! Just two!), you should really **send me prompts and I'll write you a custom story, just for you**. I'm bollocks at coming up with ideas myself (except, y'know, this one), so if you want to read more, send those ideas along! Just as a reminder, I'm not so interested in m-preg, dark!harry, or complete AUs. However, I am pretty good at going off on a tangent with an idea, so if you've got one of those, you might as well send it along and I'll see what I can do ^.^

Also, you guys, two reviews away from 600! **MirrorFlower and DarkWind** was my 500th reviewer, and she got a customized story that very day (er, actually, probably the next, so I could edit it) with all her favorite elements. Don't you want that? Wouldn't it be so super awesome to have that? _(please disregard the fact that you could have that anyways because the plot bunnies, I need them)_

Anyway, enjoy your fluff! It's a lot of fluff :) A particular shout out to **cinnamin**, who's been waiting for this for a very, very long time. It's hear, my dear! It's finally here!

**Chapter Sixty-Two:**

"_**Ask Me."**_

Harry didn't hear a word Slughorn said. He didn't look at Draco, either. He didn't need to. He could feel the tension between them, thought a single stray spark from any one of the lit cauldrons could ignite the air between them. He felt when Draco glanced at him, never for more than a second at a time. He wanted to look back, wanted to desperately, but he was afraid he'd burst into tears. The tension, the tears, it all continued to build until Harry suddenly stood up, nearly knocking his table over.

"I've got to go to the loo," he said.

"Alright, then, Potter, no need to look so alarmed," Slughorn said. "Off you go."

Harry nearly ran out of the classroom, walked a few feet down the hallway and stood, waiting. He was sure Draco would follow, he knew it. He had to. If there was any hope for them, he had to. And there had to be hope.

The longer he waited the more anxious he got. Draco wasn't going to come. He was, but he'd scream at Harry, yell at him until his voice was gone, then hex him. He was going to, but he wouldn't say anything, wouldn't respond to anything Harry had to say.

The door opened, and for a moment Harry thought he was having an actual heart attack. His heart stopped beating, pain shot through him, his breathing stopped, everything was gone. Draco emerged gracefully, closed the door, stepped out of line of sight from the window and looked at Harry. How could Harry have walked away from his eyes? They were so beautiful. The lines of his face, the way his hair was slicked back, his black robes.

"You're crying," Draco said, almost curiously.

Harry angrily wiped his tears away. It seemed he hadn't stopped crying for days now, and he was getting sick of it. "You're not," he replied accusingly.

"I was in class," Draco said. "It wouldn't be proper. I also know a fair bit of restorative magic, whether it be used for curing wounds or returning one's eyes to their natural state. I could hardly leave our room looking like I'd been crying for days on end."

"Ron said you showed up at Gryffindor Tower looking like hell," Harry said. "Forgot your magic?"

"I was distraught," Draco replied. "Did they give you the coin?"

Harry's stomach twisted. "They tried," he said. "Hermione's got it now, keeping it safe until I want it back."

"It would seem that you don't, then," Draco said. "Not if she's still got it."

"I do," Harry replied. "I can feel the weight of it missing from my pocket. I just forgot to ask this morning, I was too busy worrying."

"About what?" Draco asked, his voice starting to rise. "What do you have to worry about? You broke my heart, you stormed out, you disappeared for two days. _Two fucking days_, Potter. What was I supposed to think? I checked the Room of Requirement a hundred times, I practically stalked Gryffindor Tower, I looked in the kitchens, even the goddamned Astronomy Tower. You were _gone_."

"You had bad timing," Harry said. "I was in all of those places. I spent yesterday with the Weasleys, though, and last night. I collected my favor."

"Ah," Draco said. "You couldn't stand my presence so much you couldn't stay in the castle itself."

"It wasn't you," Harry said. "It was the war, it was George, I needed to be with my family."

"Which wasn't me," Draco said flatly.

Harry was exhausted. He hadn't slept well in days, he spent most of his time crying, and his head was filled with thoughts of Voldemort and Death Eaters. He burst into tears, great, wracking sobs that shook his whole body. Draco stood where he was. It was the first time this year he hadn't offered comfort.

"Dray—" he choked. "Please."

"Please what?" Draco asked.

"Come back," Harry whispered. "Please come back."

"_You_ want _me_ to come back?" Draco hissed. "You were the one who left _me_, not the other way around."

Harry slid down the wall, shaking, unable to look at Draco. "Please," he said again. "I love you, I need you, I can't live without you. I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, it was the day, the time, everything was wrong, but it was so much more wrong without you, _please_, Dray, please—"

His words were cut off with a kiss, the best kiss he ever had. It was somewhere between chaste and sloppy and tasted of salt, of the tears coursing down his face.

"I love you," Draco whispered, pulling away only enough to talk. He rested his forehead on Harry's, gripped the back of his neck so he couldn't pull away. "I waited for you for so long. I thought you finally figured it out, that you deserved so much more than me. I thought—I used to think that one night with you, even a single kiss, would be better than living without you. You made me realize how wrong I was. Having you and then you pulling away…I've spent the past two days crying and throwing up and in bed. It smells like you, you know, your pillow."

"Now," Harry said, still crying. "Ask now."

He saw that Draco was crying too, silently, two identical streams of tears coursing down his face. "Ask what?" Draco asked. "Ask you to stay? Beg for you?"

Harry kissed him, desperately. "No, you never need to do that. I've learned my lesson. I shouldn't have needed to, I know, and I'll spend the rest of my life apologizing to you. I should be the one begging, not you."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Then ask what?"

Harry turned away. "Never mind, then. If you don't know, it's not now."

Draco's breath hitched. "You mean—that? You think now's the right time for that? On the floor in a hallway in the dungeons, skipping class, crying? You want me to ask now?"

"Every moment I was away," Harry started, "every moment I was yelling at you, I needed you. Everything I said, I meant it, in that moment, and I still needed you. There wasn't a minute I didn't know that."

"So you want me to ask," Draco said.

"I guess it doesn't matter," Harry said. "I need you. I love you. I love you desperately. Just those two days without you, I couldn't—" He broke off, trying to organize his thoughts. "Everyone knew," he said. "Everyone who looked at me, who talked to me, they all knew. I got yelled at in those two days more than I have in ages. Everyone knows we're meant to be together. I'm just—I get daft, you know, especially about emotional things."

Draco smiled slightly. "I do know that."

"So ask or don't ask, I don't care," Harry said. "Just tell me you forgive me."

Draco turned Harry back to face him. "I forgive you," he said. "We need to talk, more than we can do in this hallway, but I forgive you. I love you. I won't leave you, not ever. I've been telling you that from the beginning. It's you, it's always been you, it'll only ever be you." They kissed again, thoroughly, claiming each other. "Are you sure?" Draco asked, breaking away. "You want me to ask now? You only get one proper asking. Are you sure now is the time?"

Harry thought very hard. He had pictured candles and a fancy meal, snuggling, Draco on one knee with a velvet box. He thought ages later, after they graduated, after he finished training.

Then again, he had thought much the same thing about their first time having sex. Candles, a fancy meal, snuggling. Instead it was desperate, needing, comforting, full of love when they needed it most. It was brilliant, he wouldn't have changed a thing. He had thought other things, but he had been wrong.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Now."

Draco shuffled so he wasn't leaning against the wall anymore, so he was completely facing Harry. He took his hands, rubbing small circles into his skin. He found Harry's eyes with his, holding them. Draco's eyes were clear, no trace of tears, just endless grey pools. Harry saw everything in them, the seven and a half years of love, of need. How much he had hurt Draco by walking away. Draco didn't need to ask, not when he was looking at him like that.

"Harry James Potter," he said quietly. "I love you, for now and for ever. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I _will_ spend the rest of my life with you." He paused. "That's not really asking, is it? I thought I'd had more time. I'd pick a day, spend ages planning, figuring out just the right words. I—you really should have let me wait."

"No, keep going," Harry said. "It's perfect, keep going."

"I love you," Draco said again. "And I can't stand the thought of being without you, especially now that I know what it's like. Never leave me again."

"I won't," Harry replied. "You still haven't asked, though."

Draco huffed. "I'm _trying_. It's not easy, you know. Just because you blurted it out in the middle of sex doesn't mean that's the proper way to do it. What _were_ you thinking of, by the way? What on earth were you wanking to that made you say that?"

"Marrying you," Harry said bluntly. "You in white robes as I walked up to you. Buying a house together. Coming home to you every night. Other things, I don't remember."

"How very domestic," Draco said, but there wasn't even a hint of malice in his voice. "You want me in white robes and you in black? We'll have to have a conversation about that."

"Ask me," Harry said again. Draco shifted again and glanced away for a split second. "Unless you don't want to," Harry said, stomach dropping. "If you don't want to ask, now or ever, I don't want—"

"Marry me," Draco interrupted. "Be my husband. Spend the rest of your life with me."

Harry grabbed Draco, pulling him into a hug. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, yes, yes. Always yes. These last two days were so awful, I can't—"

"Shh, it's okay," Draco said softly, rubbing his back. "I know." He kissed the top of Harry's head. "I haven't got a ring," he said. "I'd give you my grandmother's, but I don't think you'd like the idea of a Malfoy artifact on your person at all times."

"I would," Harry said. "I haven't got anything for you at all. I found Sirius' mum's ring in Grimmauld Place, but…" He shuddered. "I won't give you that. We'll have to go ring shopping."

"I'll owl Mother and have her send my grandmother's," Draco said. "We'll get wedding bands together, yes? These are engagement rings?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He kissed Draco, their first kiss as an engaged couple. It was beautiful. If they hadn't just had a back-together kiss, Harry would have thought it their best so far. Second best, then. And that was saying something. "We should probably get back to class."

Draco sighed. "Why must you always be so responsible?"

Harry grinned. "Seven and a half years of Hermione," he said. "I'll go first. Give me a few minutes, then go ahead."

Draco pulled him back for a final kiss. "Fine. Go."

Slughorn gave him a bit of a look as he returned to his seat, but continued talking. When Draco returned a few minutes later they were given an even longer evaluation, but Slughorn still didn't say anything.

"Alright, then, off you go," he said. "You've got an hour."

"What're we brewing?" Harry asked quietly, flipping open his book for the first time.

"Haven't the slightest idea," Draco replied.

Sex that night was amazing. They had never been closer, physically or emotionally. Draco sat on Harry's lap, holding them together as he moved, their lips never separating. Draco kept a slow pace, gently bringing them closer and closer to the edge and holding them there. They were both whimpering and moaning, grasping at each other. They came at the same time, each other's names on their lips. They lay together for a long time, not caring that they had class first thing in the morning, or how tired they were. It was a struggle to stay awake but they both did, holding each other.

The rest of May was extremely unpleasant. There wasn't time for anything other than studying, not with the N.E.W.T.s coming up. Harry and Draco kept planning to go to Hogsmeade to get Draco an engagement ring but it never happened. Harry didn't want to wear his until they both had one so he kept Draco's grandmother's safe in his sock drawer. They didn't tell anyone, not yet. They were all too busy, there wasn't any point.

Tempers were running high again. Harry would have thought there would have been a longer mourning period, but they simply didn't have the time. Hermione was steadily getting more and more anxious, until she shrieked every time anyone uttered her name, or dared to tap her on the shoulder. Harry didn't know how she was getting any sleep at all, not when the rest of them were lucky to get to bed before three without all the extra classes.

The combination of tempers and Aurora's age meant a lot of snippiness got directed at her. She had more homework, yes, since finals were coming, but she didn't have to worry about N.E.W.T.s, and nobody seemed particularly okay with this situation. Neville made an effort to defend her but eventually gave up when it was pointed out how much work he had himself, and that some of it was potions, and he wouldn't have her by his side during the test.

Only Luna seemed calm. She worked as late as the rest of them, but she was never tired, never snippy or angry. Harry demanded to know her secret, and she just smiled serenely at him and said it was all in the mind. This infuriated Harry and he went off on her, stopping only when Draco kissed him.

Harry had several additional causes for worry. Draco's birthday was on June 5th, and something needed to be done about it. He thought a party a terribly bad idea, not when everyone was so tightly wound, especially when it was the first day of N.E.W.T.s. Harry had no idea when he'd have a chance to go shopping or what he'd get Draco or anything. Just another thing to add to his list of things that needed doing.

There was the organization of moving as well. Mrs. Malfoy was helping with this, helping quite a bit, but that still left them with a huge amount of work. Draco's chaise was at Hogwarts, as well as most of their things. Clothing, books, photographs and anything else they had lying around could be packed, yes, but Draco refused to shrink the chaise, stating it would ruin the furniture. He also refused to shrink the Nicholas Skye poem Harry had gotten him, or owl it, or let it out of his sight. If Harry still had his favor he would have asked for an hour or two of being able to apparate, but that ship had sailed when he went to the Weasleys.

Draco was trying to plan a flat-warming party but kept getting held up by, in his words, _not having a single bloody house elf_. It turned out he had no idea how to throw a party without them, and he kept asking Harry how they did it in the Muggle world, despite Harry's insistence that he didn't know. There were squabbles about who to invite as well—Harry wanted the whole Weasley family and Draco insisted the flat was too small. Draco wanted Xenophilius Lovegood to come along, since he was so close with Luna, but Harry still hadn't forgiven him for turning them over last year, not exactly. Nor did he have any success in imparting just how strange the man was. The date was also a topic of dispute; Harry wanted to have the party on the 20th, the day after they moved in, so Aurora could come, but Draco insisted they needed time before they invited people over. Harry tried to tell him nobody would care if there were boxes shoved into the corners, but Draco simply wouldn't hear it.

And then, quite suddenly, it was the first of June, and true panic set in.


	63. Chapter 63: The End

**A/N:** Fluff, you guys. Only fluff.

So I'm a little teary about this, even though we've still got the epilogue tomorrow. Maybe it's just because I'm having a bad day in a series of bad days but, you guys, this is the last proper chapter. _sniffle_

I am **still accepting plot bunnies! ALL the plot bunnies**. On the other hand, don't freak out entirely. I've got three stories written out—wait, no, four, I'm going crazy—one of which is multi-chaptered and may have a sequel in the wings, I'm not sure—and four Idea Stickies waiting to go, but still. **Plot Bunnies.**

I can't remember if I said this yesterday to all of you or just D.E.W.P. (hi!), but once Ostriches is done (tomorrow O.o), I'm going to switch to a once-weekly publishing schedule. I should be able to eke out a single one shot a week, even while working on my Great American Novel. So, y'know, set a timer for Mondays! Mondays are officially publishing days! Unless I run out of **plot bunnies which you should send me**.

Anyway, enjoy, my friends. I love you all, each and every one of you. Those that have come out of the woodwork at the end to tell me they've been reading the whole time and love it, those who have been with me since the beginning, those I've become friends with, all of you.

Okay I have to go before I start crying. Love you. Enjoy.

**Chapter Sixty-Three:**

_**The End**_

Hermione was absolutely scandalized when Harry left for Hogsmeade instead of going back to their room to study.

"It'll just be for an hour," he said, edging towards the front doors. "Two at the most."

"N.E.W.T.s start _Monday_!" she said. "You don't _have _an hour or two!"

He was backed against the door, the knobs in his hands. "I'll just be a minute, 'Mione," he said. "Promise. Then I'll come back and we can do all the studying you want."

"But—you—"

Harry looked pleadingly at Draco, who shook his head sharply. Harry had been forbidden to tell anyone about his birthday; Draco insisted there wasn't any point, since they were too busy to have a party or anything of the sort. Harry thought it was sort of sweet, that he didn't want to burden his friends, no matter how much he insisted it was because _he_ didn't have time and _he_ didn't want a fuss made. The day Draco didn't want a fuss made over him was the day pigs flew.

"I'll be back before you know it," Harry said. "Just study Arithmancy while I'm gone, that way I won't miss anything."

Hermione gave him a pleading look, but he still slipped out the door and hurried towards Hogsmeade. He didn't have the time to do this, but he was damned if he was going to let Draco's birthday go past unnoticed. And, unlike Christmas, he actually knew what he was shopping for.

Harry's first stop was Honeydukes. They didn't have proper cakes—they weren't a bakery after all—but Harry had already been in touch with the owner, and a small box was waiting for him behind the counter. He paid quickly and turned down one side street, and then another, and another, until he found the shop he had been assured existed. It was small, hardly bigger than his cupboard, and the only lights came from the display cases.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," a silken voice said. "I was expecting you earlier."

"Sorry," Harry said. "I couldn't get away until after lunch. N.E.W.T.s and all."

"Of course." A man—Altan Flurin, he assumed—stepped out of the shadows, and Harry was suddenly more nervous than he had already been, which was saying something. It wasn't that he looked mean or unkind, but his piercing violet eyes seemed to stare into Harry the same way Ollivander's did. "You may look with your eyes, hands or wands," Mr. Flurin said. "Whichever suits you."

"Thanks," Harry said. He turned back to the display cases, moving slowly from one to the next. He had owled both the Weasleys and Mrs. Malfoy asking about jewelers, and they both said the same thing—Flurin's. If you could afford it, that is. Mr. Weasley had suggested another shop in Diagon Alley if he needed something in a smaller price bracket, but Harry was going to do this right, even if it cleaned out his vault.

Mr. Flurin stood behind the counter, eyes on Harry as he looked. It was extremely disconcerting, especially the closer he got to the last case. What if he didn't find anything, what then? He wasn't going to apparate to Diagon Alley, not when he had such little time and he was so close to graduating without getting into any serious trouble. There had to be something here. There just had to be.

With the final case thoroughly, exhaustively examined, Harry let out a whimper he hadn't intended on. He must have missed something. He was about to go through the displays again when Mr. Flurin spoke up.

"Try your wand," he said. "The wand chooses the wizard, they say. Perhaps the ring chooses the wand."

"It's not for me," Harry said. "I don't see what help my wand will be."

"You chose the intended wearer," Mr. Flurin said. "All magic is linked together, Mr. Potter."

Harry hesitantly took out his wand. What, exactly, was he supposed to do with it? Mr. Flurin didn't seem inclined to give him an idea, so he simply swept it in an arc across the room. Nothing happened. Harry closed his eyes and focused on Draco. The feeling of the stone floor beneath his knees, his face tacky with tears. Draco's not-quite-almost-sort-of-planned words. The weight of Draco's grandmother's ring on his finger. A diamond, surprisingly modest for a Malfoy, with an emerald on each side. The platinum band.

The tip of his wand started to glow and Harry held out his other hand. Draco's smile. His silver eyes. The way his hair fell into his face. How his fingers felt wrapped around Harry's. His laugh, easier and easier to coax out of him. The way he looked at Harry when he felt he was being particularly daft. The first time he had said he loved Harry, almost like an accusation, an attack. Their first proper date in the Black Lake, the fooling around that followed. Their first times, both of them: when Draco entered him after he testified for his dad; when he entered Draco after his dad's sentencing. Their first Quidditch game, just the two of them, no teams getting in the way. When he held out his hand on the Hogwarts Express, what seemed like years ago. Crying in the bathroom sixth year. When he lowered his wand.

Harry's heart ached. _Fuck_, he loved Draco.

A ring flew into his open, waiting hand. Harry opened his eyes and put his wand away. His fist was still clenched. Should he look? What would the point be? He had found this ring, he had summoned it with the force of his feelings. Merlin, it was a cliché, but what could he do about it? The wand chose the wizard, the wand chose the ring. That'd be that.

"This one," Harry said, holding out his hand.

Mr. Flurin took the ring and examined it. "This wasn't out front," he said thoughtfully. "I hadn't decided if I was going to sell it or not."

"Why wouldn't you?" Harry asked, stomach twisting. He hadn't picked a cursed ring, had he? That would be fitting.

"The gem has an imperfection," he said. "If you chose not to see it, I won't say."

Harry fidgeted. Would Draco accept anything less than perfect, would he be offended at the mere concept? Maybe he should look, just to check, to make sure he wasn't buying something that'd need to be returned. Or maybe he should just bring Draco here himself, let him pick something. That seemed like a good idea. This was too much, there was so much pressure, and with all his work looming over him, he was hardly thinking clearly.

"Y'know, never mind, I think—"

"Would you turn down your holly wand so easily?" Mr. Flurin asked. "It is not my intention to push you into a purchase, I just wish you to see all sides."

Harry rubbed his temple. "What's the stone?" he asked. "And what's the imperfection?"

"A diamond," Mr. Flurin said. "There are a few pieces of sand in the center."

"Why'd you use it, if it was flawed?" Harry asked.

"Are you familiar with Astronomy?"

Harry's eyes flew open. He knew what Mr. Flurin was going to say, the same way he had known there was something special about his wand. "The flecks, they're in the shape of the Draco constellation, aren't they?"

"Indeed," Mr. Flurin said, not at all surprised that Harry knew. "A ring for you and you alone. Let me get a box, and then we shall discuss Galleons."

He disappeared into the back room, leaving Harry to contemplate his luck. _Luck be damned_, he thought. _I've been stuck with goddamned fate my whole life. Might as well take the good with the bad_.

Mr. Flurin returned and handed Harry a small, black box. The initials AF were inlayed in the velvet, a gold, elegant script. Harry pocketed it. The price he named was more than Harry had ever spent in a single year, never mind on a single purchase, but he handed the Galleons over without complaint. His Moke-skin coin purse was certainly handy when carrying around enough gold to physically weigh him down.

With that, Harry practically sprinted back to the castle. _Merlin_, he had a lot of studying to do.

Sunday they never left their room. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Aurora and Luna all camped out, Hermione literally: she had fallen asleep on the couch Saturday night, and nobody had the heart to wake her. House elves brought food and even offered to help clean the gigantic mess that had been created, but Harry insisted they were fine. For the first time he had seen, Hermione had actually yelled at an elf, saying everything was organized _exactly_ correctly in the _only possible way _and Merlin help anyone who even _breathed _on it. Then she apologized immediately, and gave the elf one of the cookies it had brought, despite the elf's protests. Despite everyone studying together, Aurora was virtually invisible; she wasn't taking the N.E.W.T.s so she had ceased to exist.

Monday dawned grey and rainy. Of course. Harry and Draco went down to breakfast and joined their friends. They were pale and quiet with deep bags under their eyes. Today was Charms, and Harry kept telling himself he was good at Charms, they all were, Charms was easy, but it did nothing to help. He didn't mention anything about Draco's birthday, which had nothing to do with forgetting in the face of his first N.E.W.T. and everything to do with saving the surprise for the evening. The written exam was before lunch and the practical after, which Harry thought rather daft. It wasn't like he had the stomach to eat in between, they might as well have gotten it all done in one go.

Even though Harry thought the test probably went well, most likely, he wasn't any calmer by the end of the day. Draco had Arithmancy on Tuesday, and he spent dinner looking at anything but the food, a faint green tinge on his pale skin. Hermione was muttering numbers under her breath. Luna gazed up at the ceiling as she ate, and it would take a very close friend indeed to notice she was nervous. Ron, Neville and Harry were relaxed, sort of, since they had a day off. The problem with that was they still needed to fill it with studying, not to mention both Ron and Harry had significant others taking what was most likely the hardest NE.W.T. Aurora kept her eyes down, and it didn't take a genius to tell how guilty she was feeling.

After dinner, Draco, Hermione and Luna went—or in Draco's case, attempt to go—to the Ravenclaw common room to study. A disproportionate number of Ravenclaws were taking Arithmancy, and it seemed best place for last minute cramming.

Draco shook of Harry's arm, a look of annoyance crossing his face. "What're you doing?" he said angrily. "I know you haven't got a test tomorrow. Bloody brilliant. Some of us aren't so lucky."

"Just for a minute," Harry said. "Half a second, and then you can study."

Draco glanced imploringly at Luna and Hermione, but Luna didn't seem to notice, and Hermione just shrugged. He sighed angrily. "Half a minute, Potter," Draco said, letting himself be dragged down the hallway. "Half a _second_, and not any longer."

"Yeah, of course," Harry said. "I've got studying with Ron and Neville. Er, really, tutoring from Neville. Herbology's Wednesday."

"I know the bloody schedule," Draco snapped. "Charms, Arithmancy, Herbology, Transfiguration, Defense, weekend, Potions, free, History, Muggle Studies."

"One day at a time," Harry said. "Don't try—"

"Don't tell me what to do."

Harry was seriously starting to rethink his plans, but they were already at the sphinx, and it seemed too late to change his mind. "Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy."

It swung open immediately. "Good luck."

"Shove it," Draco said angrily, and Harry quickly pulled him up the stairs before he could say anything else. The last thing they needed was to get locked out of their room. He led them into the bedroom and sat Draco down. Harry pulled two boxes out of his sock drawer, and spent a moment fiddling with one of them.

"Goddammit Harry, hurry the hell up!"

Harry turned around, holding a small plate of raspberry truffles. A miniature candle was in the center chocolate, burning a tiny flame.

"Happy birthday," Harry said, sitting next to Draco and handing him the plate. "Make a wish."

Draco gave him an incredibly frustrated look. "What do you mean, a wish?"

Harry blinked. Was that a Muggle tradition? "Er, never mind," he said quickly. "Just blow out the candle and have a truffle."

"Bloody traditionalist," Draco muttered, doing as instructed. He set the candle aside and ate the chocolate. For a moment, however brief, he looked at peace. Cursing aside, Harry knew how much he loved the traditions. He wasn't going to push it, not when they were so short on time, but Harry vowed to teach Draco about wish making next year.

"Thank you," Draco said quietly, and gave Harry a quick kiss. "Now I've really got to—"

"No, not yet," Harry said, and Draco huffed and rolled his eyes.

"What next, Potter? A bouquet of flowers? I haven't time for this."

Harry took the small, velvet box out of his pocket and slipped it into Draco's hand. "Don't open it now, if you don't want to," he said teasingly. There was no way Draco could wait; not only could he not resist a wrapped gift, when it so obvious what it was, the curiosity would kill him, Harry was sure of it. "Go on, go back to studying. It'll keep."

Draco shot him a very complicated look at sat back down. "Harry," he sighed. "I thought you were going to wait until we could go shopping together in London."

"I didn't," Harry said bluntly. "This is better, isn't it? On your birthday, in the middle of N.E.W.T.s?"

"Yeah," Draco said softly. His fingers hovered over the box, ghosting over the velvet. "Harry, I—"

"Open it or don't," Harry interrupted. "Study time."

Draco glared at him. "Don't remind me."

"Then go on."

"Stop bloody rushing me!" Draco snapped. "It's not every day I get to do this, you know! Merlin, Harry. First you push me into a proposal, now you're hurrying me to open the box. Just—let me take my time, all right? I've been—I mean, I've wanted—waited so long, and—"

Harry thought Draco might be about to cry, and he kissed his cheek. "It's okay," he said softly. "Whatever you need."

"I had to look at your damned book, you know," Draco said, eyes on the box. "Before this, back when you first got it. _A Wizard's Guide to Wizards_. Merlin, I felt like an idiot, looking something up. I ought to know how being gay works by now."

"What did you look up?" Harry asked gently, leaning his head on Draco's shoulder.

Draco flushed. "Whether we're both supposed to have engagement rings."

"I don't think it mentions that," Harry said with a smile.

"No, it doesn't." Draco turned the box around and around.

Harry's stomach clenched, and he sat up very suddenly. "You do want one, don't you? I mean, I thought you did, if you don't, we can—"

Draco silenced him with a kiss. "Yes, I do."

"Then open the bloody box, would you?" Harry said nervously. "What if you don't like it, what then?"

"I will," Draco said. "You picked it out. Of course I'll like it."

Harry fidgeted. "Well, er, my wand did, technically."

Draco laughed, surprising Harry, nearly causing him to jump. "That old rubbish? It actually works? I thought it was just something from old romance novels."

Harry flushed. "No, it works. I think. I'd _know_, if you'd open the _box_."

Draco licked his lips, looking back down at it. "AF," he mused. "Altan Flurin. The only name in engagement rings. I assume you had to ask Mother where to go?"

Harry's blush darkened. "Maybe."

"Well it was certainly the right decision," Draco said. "We would have gone to his shop in London if you had waited, but it's better to meet the man himself. Your means of choosing the ring makes much more sense now. He would believe in that old lore."

"I didn't see anything, at first," Harry said. "That's why I used my wand. The ring was out back, he wasn't sure he was going to sell it at all. But, well, the wand chooses the ring, and all."

Draco frowned slightly. "Why was he holding it back?"

"The diamond—" Harry stopped himself. Was he supposed to say that? Had it been a surprise? No, he reasoned, probably not. Diamonds were supposed to be for engagements. "Well, it's a bit flawed."

Draco's eyes widened. "You got me a _flawed _diamond?" he exclaimed. "What was it, a discount? Couldn't afford the real thing?"

"Just open the damned box!" Harry protested. "Goddammit, Draco, look at the bloody thing before you yell at me! I know you're stressed but Merlin, trust me just a little bit, would you?"

Draco finally did. Harry held his breath. Draco stared for a moment before taking it out and looking at the ring. This was the first time Harry had seen it, too. Tiny diamonds were inlayed in the band the whole way around, and two smaller diamonds flanked the one in the middle, that perfectly flawed gem. No wonder it had cost so much; with that many diamonds, Harry thought he must have been given a discount.

"It's—that's my constellation," Draco said quietly. "It was _flawed_ like this? You didn't have it commissioned?"

"No, that's just how it came," Harry said, still barely breathing. Was this a good thing? Or did Draco want a traditional, perfect jewel? After what seemed like ages, when he still hadn't said anything, Harry couldn't take it anymore. "Do you like it?" he blurted out. "Do you want me to take it back? I could get something perfect, if you don't want—" He was suddenly pulled into a very tight hug, Draco burying his face in Harry's neck as he squeezed him.

"It's perfect," Draco said. "Stupidly, obnoxiously perfect." Then he pulled away, straightened his robes and put the ring back into its box. "I've got to go study," he said roughly, and Harry thought he was holding back tears. "Bloody Arithmancy."

"When do we get to wear them?" Harry asked, lacing his fingers with Draco's as they left together. "To tell everyone, I mean."

"At the flat-warming party," Draco said as if it was obvious. "We'll make the announcement during dinner." He flinched. "Dinner which _I'll_ have to cook, thanks to your bloody no-house-elves rule. Dinner for _hundreds_, what with all the Weasleys. It's a flat-warming party, Harry, not a damned wedding. We haven't got to invite every single person we know."

"Speaking of," Harry said, "Professor Whisp is coming. She said she might bring her family, depending on their schedule."

Draco threw his arms into the air. "Brilliant." They reached the point where the paths to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Towers split. "I love you," he said firmly. "The ring, it's—well, it doesn't really matter, it's you. Always."

Harry pulled him into another hug. "I love you, too."

Draco leaned down and kissed him, slowly, gently, and thoroughly. "I've got to go," he said, finally breaking away. "I'll see you in bed, love." He smiled, properly, as if there was no such thing as N.E.W.T.s. "_Fiancée. Proper_ fiancée, now that we've both got rings." He pecked Harry's cheek, and gave his arse a quick squeeze. "See you later."

Later ended up being much, much later. Harry stumbled into bed around two, and Draco didn't make it back at all, instead falling asleep in the Ravenclaw common room. He was late to breakfast, grabbing a slice of toast and briefly touching Harry's shoulder before rushing off to the seventh floor. Harry didn't know if he was at lunch or not; he, Ron and Neville stayed in the Gryffindor common room where, much to their delight, food was provided for them. At one point Neville tried to take them down to the greenhouses, but they were accused of trying to cheat and yelled off before they could see anything. Harry wasn't pleased at all that he had gone out in the rain for nothing, and heated a glass of pumpkin juice for himself when they got back.

They met up with their Arithmancy friends at dinner. Hermione, Draco and even Luna looked haggard, and none of them seemed to be able to say exactly what had happened. Neville tried to catch them up on Herbology through dinner, going over what he had already taught Harry and Ron, but Harry suspected it fell on deaf ears. They returned to Gryffindor Tower after dinner and stayed up through the wee hours of the morning before heading to bed for a few hours of sleep.

And so the two weeks progressed. Studying. Eating, sometimes. Sleeping a few hours if possible. Between the seven of them they had an expert on every subject, and their study sessions were split between lectures, rereading books over and over again and practicing likely spells. They didn't speak of the exams themselves; they worried enough as it was without voicing concerns, and once one had gone by, they were immediately onto the next.

The Friday of the second week seemed surreal. Exams were over. Actually, really over. Nobody seemed quite sure what to do with themselves. Draco made some half-hearted party plans, but mostly they just lay on the lawn, staring up at the sky. It had cleared as soon as exams ended, and Harry wondered idly if the professors had gotten together and somehow enchanted the weather so they wouldn't have any distractions. Not that it mattered; he had his head on Draco's chest, an arm wrapped securely around him, and soft grass between his toes. The sun was warm and soothing, the quiet sound of the waves breaking on the shore peaceful, and shouts from a nearby Frisbee game were filled with the promise of summer.

"Happy birthday, Draco, by the way," Hermione said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I assumed you didn't want to bother during N.E.W.T.s. Still, we should do something, shouldn't we?"

"Already did," Harry said, snuggling further into Draco's arms.

"But a party or something?" Hermione asked.

Draco groaned. "Not another," he said. "We're having a party in two weeks. That's enough."

"Still…"

"_Expecto Patronum_," Luna said dreamily. Harry jerked up, reaching for his wand. What—? A blue light shimmered out of her wand, twisting around, and Harry realized it was forming words. _Happy Birthday_ hung in the air before them. It was beautiful, and dispelled any lingering worries about the N.E.W.T.s. Luna smiled. "There we go."

"Hang on a sec," Neville said. He took out his wand and summoned leaves from a nearby tree, decorating the words with a green border.

Hermione transfigured a handful of nearby rocks into balloons, charming them to hover by the sign. Aurora added sparkling lights, and Ron tossed a couple of Wildfire Whiz-Bangs into the air, spectacular fireworks bursting forth.

"Figures you'd be the only one not to do anything," Draco said to Harry, ruffling his already atrocious hair. Exams had hardly left room for subtelties like conditioner.

"I think I've done quite enough," Harry said with a smile. "Plus, I'm nagging—thank our friends, Draco, for being so nice to you."

Draco let out a huge sigh. "It's—all right," he said stiffly. "As far as half-assed, two-week late birthday presents go."

"Coming from you, that's nothing short of a miracle," Ron said. "You're welcome."

They watched as the words and lights faded, the leaves drifted slowly to the ground and the fireworks burnt themselves out.

"A week and a half," Hermione said quietly. "Just a week and a half, and we'll be in the real world."

"Think we've done that already, 'Mione," Harry said.

"Yeah but…" She trailed off. "The _real_ world. Not Voldemort's."

"I can attest to the difference between the two," Draco said, coming perilously close to agreeing with Hermione.

"Yeah, jobs, and stuff," Ron said. "I've helped out George before, but I'll be getting paid, and I'll have to show up on time and follow orders."

"I can't wait," Luna said with a smile. "Imagine all the creatures just waiting to be discovered."

"Stupid internship," Neville muttered. "It won't be much different from being in school."

"I'm with you," Harry said. "Only it will be different. A thousand times harder than the worst potions class." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Never mind. I don't want to think about it. We're relaxing. Stop making it so complicated."

Draco kissed the top of his head. "You'll be fine. We'll all be fine. We've got each other."

They were shocked into silence.

"Shut up," Draco said a moment later. "It's the sun. It's making my head fuzzy."

They still had classes the next week, though they were unlike any classes Harry had ever had. The practical application of seven years worth of knowledge. Some were more obvious than others—Defense, for instance, hardly came as a shocker that it could be used in dueling. Others were more obscure, though Harry had to hand it to Binns: he did a remarkable job of talking them through why History was useful.

On Wednesday all seventh and eighth years were called to the Great Hall in the middle of the afternoon. Graduation robes had arrived, and they were due for fittings. Harry watched Draco pull the new black robes over his regular black robes and suddenly felt like crying. This was how they had met, in Madame Malkin's. They had been through so much since then. So much had changed.

"Quit staring, Potter, and get your damned robes on."

Then again, maybe not so much.

Harry's very last class was History of Magic. It ended uneventfully. He drifted out of the classroom, unsure of what to do with himself. Ron and Hermione were going to pack, and while that was probably a good idea, he couldn't bring himself to start the process, not yet. He was leaving, actually _leaving_. This was his first real home, the first place he had fallen in love with. How could he just let it go? No wonder Neville wanted to teach; he'd be here forever.

Harry found himself on the third floor, asking the gargoyle if he could go inside. It stepped aside without a word, and he ascended the stairs with a blank mind. He knocked on the door, and was told to come in.

Harry took in the office. He had spent so much time here, called in again and again. Breaking the rules, told things he never wanted to know, given comfort in the darkest of times. He was briefly aware of McGonagall's eyes on him before she looked back at her paperwork. Harry ran his hands over the wooden doors that concealed the Pensieve. He stood where Fawkes' cage had once been. He looked at all the portraits of previous headmasters, especially Phineas Nigellus, Dumbledore and Snape's. The first looked back peevishly, not having forgotten spending a year shoved in Hermione's purse. Dumbledore looked at him kindly. Snape looked scornful as always, but Harry saw something more underneath.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, and left. He was almost sure he heard McGonagall blowing her nose before the door closed.

He was at Gryffindor Tower, sitting on Neville's bed, laughing and joking around with Neville, Dean and Seamus like he always had. Ron joined them partway through, leaving quickly when Dean suddenly turned into a canary. Harry followed him up to his room and watched as he and Hermione slowly emptied it of all personality. Chudley Cannon posters were carefully rolled and books packed into an expanding bag.

Harry knew where his feet were carrying him and while he wanted to turn away and go somewhere else, anywhere else, he couldn't. If he intended on closure, there was no place he needed to visit more. He climbed the winding staircase onto the platform and nearly left; someone was already here, hidden behind a pillar, noticeable only from their billowing robes. That was hardly surprising. Everyone knew where Dumbledore fell. Then they stepped to the side, and Harry saw it was Draco. His face was streaked with tears and Harry went to him without thinking. They stood together for a long time, holding each other.

Dinner wasn't their last, at least. Tomorrow he'd actually need to pack, no matter how difficult it was, and Saturday night would be his last dinner. Then their final lunch on Sunday, followed by the graduation ceremony. And then they'd leave.

Packing wasn't as bad as he'd expected, mostly because it was so exasperating he didn't have time to be nostalgic. He and Draco were trying to sort through what was going to Malfoy Manor, Grimmauld Place or their new flat, and it was hell. Draco needed _all_ his books, which Harry insisted they wouldn't have room for. Harry wanted to bring just one set of school robes with them, which Draco thought sentimental and ridiculous, even when Harry pointed out they had unlimited closet space. Draco still refused to shrink his chaise or the poem. Harry had no idea how he was planning on getting them to their flat, but eventually he gave up. As for the poem, if Draco really wanted to carry it around with him, fine. It wasn't Harry's responsibility.

The rest of their time was spent talking about their flat-warming party. Rather, _arguing_ about the party. Draco had consented to the 20th a few weeks ago and insisted on throwing it in Harry's face at every opportunity. Where would their guests sit, when they hadn't had time to buy a couch? How would they serve a buffet with no table or, for that matter, no food? What would they be giving a tour of—stacks of boxes and trunks? Draco insisted on delaying the announcement of their engagement until they had champagne and proper glasses. Harry tried to tell him these things could be solved with a little grocery shopping and magic, but Draco wouldn't hear it.

They calmed enough by bedtime to fully enjoy the last time they'd have sex in Hogwarts.

Harry had forgotten how awkward graduation would be. The entire Weasley family was there, along with Hermione's parents, Neville's grandmother, Luna's dad and Mrs. Malfoy. Everyone was civil, but the coldness between the Malfoys and the other families was obvious and uncomfortable. He was very happy when the graduating class—classes, really, both the seventh and eighth years—were called over to the folding chairs prepared for them.

Headmistress McGonagall gave a speech that made everyone teary. Then they were called, one by one, to receive their diplomas, shake her hand, and raise their wand. A shower of sparks fell, the colors of their house. Harry was surprised by how similar it was to the Muggle ceremony; he hadn't known what he expected, but surely something with more magic than just a spray of sparks. But when his turn came around he was very happy not to have to do anything other than walk, receive a piece of paper, shake hands and make sparks. He could barely accomplish that, let alone something more complicated.

Then it was done. There was a buffet, and mingling, but Harry was officially no longer a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mrs. Weasley was in tears and kept saying how proud she was that her two youngest had graduated. Neville's gran kept clapping him on the shoulder. Hermione's parents were lost in awe at the magic surrounding them, and seemed to forget to focus on Hermione. Mrs. Malfoy remained stoic as always but stayed near to Draco at all times, and Harry heard her whisper that his father would be very proud of him.

Harry drifted from one group to another. There was nobody here for him. Any of the people who might have come were dead; his parents, Sirius, even Dumbledore. He accepted hugs from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, as well as Mrs. Malfoy, but it wasn't the same. Aurora wandered over to him and squeezed his hand. She was allowed to stay only for Neville; the rest of the underclassmen had left Saturday. It wasn't the same—she wasn't graduating, and when she did, she'd have her family—but at least they were alone together.

Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express for the final time at three-thirty. Families were at Hogsmeade to apparate back to wherever they had come from, and he was very grateful. His luggage had been shrunk down to fit in his pocket with the except of Brian's cage and a single trunk which contained things better not shrunk—his invisibility cloak, Draco's poem, and whatever hadn't fit in other bags. Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Aurora and Luna crammed into a single compartment. The ride was long and quiet. There was brief conversation when the sweets trolley came around, especially when Harry's chocolate frog managed to escape out the window, so much like his first year his heart ached. But then Draco gave him one of his, and that was so different it was almost surreal.

They parted ways at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Neville and Aurora apparated to his gran's house, Hermione to her parents', Ron to the Burrow, Luna to her dad's, and Harry and Draco to Malfoy Manor. They had promised Mrs. Malfoy a final night, and they would give it to her. And then, then to their flat.


	64. Chapter 64: Epilogue

**A/N:** I just reread this for editing purposes and now I'm in tears.

You guys…I don't even know what to say. This has been such an adventure for me, for you, for us together. It's my first novel, the first of many (look for my name on bookstands some day!), and a part of my soul, here, on paper (or on your screen, whatever). The support I've gotten from you has been amazing, each review a spark of light in the dark, every view a door to my mind, every favorite a favorite moment.

So. Well, here it is. The epilogue. The end. I hope you love it, I really do. It's filled with fluff and just a touch of angst (it wouldn't be Drarry if there was _no_ angst :P). It's everything.

I love this story and I love all of you. For the final time, enjoy!

(p.s. I'll be publishing shorter, mostly one-shots on Mondays from now on. There will be "enjoy"s then ^.^)

**Epilogue**

The flat-warming party was a remarkable success. Harry and Draco spent one last night at Malfoy Manor and collected even more books to bring, not to mention Draco's bed. They left very early and squeezed in as much shopping and unpacking as they could by four. By then they had a kitchen set, bread, milk, pasta and sauce, and a bottle of champagne, walls and walls of shelves that Draco had already filled, and a dresser, which was a disaster area. Clothes hung out of drawers, unfolded and hastily thrown in. Harry's study was empty, and they still didn't have a couch or chairs, but they made it work.

The sheer number of people was staggering. Ron and Hermione, Neville and Aurora, and Luna, of course. All of the Weasleys; even Charlie apparated in from Romania. Mrs. Malfoy. Professor Whisp—who was now Amelia—and her family. Members of the Order came and went; even Kingsley stopped by for a few minutes in between meetings.

Dinner was pasta, and halfway through Draco stood. The table had been lengthened to take up the entire living room as well as the dining area, and the chairs had multiplied like bunnies. He glanced at Harry, and his mum, who knew only because he needed to get his grandmother's ring. Mr. Weasley suspected, as Harry had written to him about jewelers, but had kept his suspicions to himself. Then Draco announced and everyone applauded, even Ron. Mrs. Weasley had tears in her eyes. Ron and Hermione held hands. Harry realized with a start that Mrs. Malfoy was going to be his mother-in-law. And, holy _Merlin_, Lucius Malfoy his father-in-law. That was—that would certainly be something. Draco summoned their rings and, finally, for the first time, they wore them together, in public.

Harry and Draco had the summer to plan their wedding. It was not an easy process, and nearly every night Harry went to bed hating Draco as much as he loved him. Eventually Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Malfoy took over all planning duties, and after that things went much more smoothly. Harry and Draco were left with the fun parts—sampling cakes, choosing lettering for the invitations (they ended up having Daisy do it), and deciding where to honeymoon. Harry complained they wouldn't have time, not once he started training, but Draco insisted. He did concede they to waiting to make any final decisions until Harry knew more about his schedule.

There was the matter of when to have the wedding. Harry wanted to have it before he started at the Ministry, but Draco absolutely refused any date before his father was released. Harry thought that to be a very reasonable request but, as he told Draco for the hundredth time, so was not having the ceremony in the middle of the night when he finally got home, utterly exhausted from training. Their fight escalated into a screaming match and culminated with Draco breaking down into tears. The decision was put off while Harry owled Kingsley and the current Head of Auror Office. He felt like a heel for trying to get time off before he even started, but apparently there was a long history of marriages taking place during the training season, and Harry was granted three days off in mid-October.

The second big fight revolved around where: Harry wanted the Burrow and Draco Malfoy Manor. Harry physically dragged Draco into their fireplace and to the Burrow, once again setting off the Caterwauling charm, to show him where Bill and Fleur's wedding had been, and pictures from the event. Mrs. Weasley calmly took the photo album back from Harry and suggested they have the ceremony at the Burrow and the reception at the Manor. Draco started to argue for the reverse until it was pointed out to him that the Manor was much more suited to an occasion as fancy as a wedding reception than the Burrow was.

The third and final blowout was over dress robes. Harry wanted Draco in white and wouldn't hear of anything else. Draco insisted it was emasculating and Harry pointed out he wasn't exactly the picture of masculinity, which earned him a broken nose. Hermione was there to fix it, and she quietly suggested perhaps they could both wear white.

"Three times," Harry said, still holding a hand to his nose, despite the fact that it had stopped bleeding and didn't hurt anymore. "Three times you've broken my nose. I should get something for that."

"You picked the cake," Draco shot back. "White raspberry with red raspberry filling. It was _one kiss_. You don't need to base our entire relationship on one bloody truffle!"

"Oh come off it, it was your favorite too," Harry snapped.

"No, I wanted the—"

"Shut up!" Ron yelled. "You've already decided, and you didn't even have a fight over it. If you're going to get into a screaming match, at least stay focused."

Draco spun around to face Ron. "You know why he wants me in white?" he asked dangerously. "Because _once, _before we were even _engaged_, he wanked to our wedding, and he had me in white." Ron turned a bright red, and Draco whirled back to Harry. "_I'm not wearing white!_"

"What if you did, but Harry was the one to walk down the aisle?" Hermione suggested. "You'd each be filling both gender rolls."

Draco's eyes continued to burn, but he didn't entirely reject the proposition. "Who'd walk you down?" he asked angrily. "The bloody Mirror of Erised?"

That time it was Draco's nose that was broken.

Eventually, though, they settled on Hermione's suggestion. Mrs. Weasley was to give Harry away. Harry would wear black, Draco white. The figures of them on top of the cake would be wearing opposite colors. Draco was still rather sulky about the arrangement, but the moment he agreed to it Hermione insisted on an Unbreakable Vow, and after that there was nothing to be said.

Besides, the makeup sex was worth it.

Harry dropped out of the planning process completely on the first of September. Auror training was every bit as grueling as he had expected, if not more so. He left for the Ministry at six in the morning and was lucky if he got home by ten. Draco rose to the occasion magnificently. Every night Harry was greeted with a warm dinner, even if the only preparation was boiling water or heating up a pot of store-bought soup. When he was too exhausted to do it himself Draco would undress him, and heal any wounds left over from the day. They did have sex, despite Harry's worries. Tired, Draco-doing-all-the-work sex, but sex nonetheless.

The only night Harry had an empty bed was October 1st, the day Lucius Malfoy was released from Azkaban. He and Draco had already discussed it, and thought it would be best for him to remain at home. It was a family night, and while Harry was soon to be family—in exactly three weeks, in fact—neither of them felt it a good idea for Mr. Malfoy to come home to Harry Potter in his sitting room. He had cereal for dinner that night and collapsed into bed, sleeping in his robes. It might have been a Saturday, but trainees only got a day off every other week, and Harry had been off Wednesday.

Draco was back in their flat by the time Harry got home Sunday night, looking as though nothing had happened. It turned out not much had; his father had spent a long time sleeping, even longer talking to his wife in private, and Draco only spent a few hours with him. He had also changed his mind about telling his father about the wedding, despite the impending date. This made Harry nervous, but he kept it to himself.

A new routine was born, though at first it didn't seem to affect Harry directly. Draco was always there when he woke up and when he got home from work, but he had stopped spending his days in the flat and instead stayed at Malfoy Manor with his father. Harry wasn't thrilled with the idea; every day it seemed like Draco considered the flat more and more Harry's instead of theirs, but he didn't know how to raise the topic without sounding like an absolute jerk.

It came to a head when Harry came home to an empty flat, devoid of both Draco and his precious chaise. It seemed the couch was enchanted to follow Draco wherever he lived; it had appeared in the flat without any coaxing from Hogwarts. Harry Flooed to Manor and they had another screaming match. It turned out that was how Mr. Malfoy found out about the wedding, when Harry threatened to call it off since they weren't even living together anymore. Mr. Malfoy stopped the argument in its tracks: he lectured Draco for being insensitive and not holding up his end of the relationship and then Harry, for not making an effort to be there for Draco when he so clearly needed it.

Harry was surprised at how on point and direct Mr. Malfoy was, as well as the lack of scorn and derision in his voice. Harry and Draco apologized to each other, and they spent the next few hours with both of Draco's parents. As soon as the fight was over awkwardness had taken over, and all four of them had to work against it. Mr. Malfoy in particular was put off, blaming everyone in the room for not telling him about the wedding sooner, for not informing him there was going to be a reception _in his own house_. He carefully avoided ever saying outright it was Harry who Draco was going to marry but he also didn't come out and condemn it, and Harry was quite pleased with that.

By the time Harry and Draco returned to their flat the chaise was back in its customary place.

Harry forced himself to stay up with Draco, at least most nights, and the difference was immediately noticeable. Draco was once again _there_. The closer it got to the wedding the more conversation centered on it. Harry was shown seating plans, menus, a set-list for the band, and while he could carry a conversation on any one topic, it flew out of his head as soon as they moved onto the next. Even though he was sure Draco had told him a hundred times, he still nearly had a heart attack when Madame Alezae, the witch from Île de Caché from whom he had bought Draco's cloak, showed up in the middle of a particularly difficult training session and frog-marched him into a spare room. She took his measurements, circled him several times, and pushed him back out to train. When Harry mentioned this to Draco he laughed, and said she'd be back in a few days with his robes.

"Can't she drop them off here?" Harry asked. "Everyone was laughing at me."

"No," Draco said, rolling his eyes as if it was obvious. "What if she needs to make alterations? It's our wedding, Harry, you've got to look perfect."

The second encounter was much worse, and from then on his fellow trainees would only call him Fancy Pants. For the first time in his life, Harry missed the days of The Boy Who Lived. Even Scarhead was better than Fancy Pants.

And then, quite suddenly, it was October 20th and the wedding was tomorrow. They held a rehearsal dinner at the Burrow, complete with an awful, embarrassing Best Man speech from Ron. The wedding party was a little awkward, since they so closely shared a small group of friends. Ron was Best Man to both of them, despite some whining from both Draco and Ron, and Hermione was Maid of Honor to both. Ron and Hermione would be standing on Harry's side and Neville and Aurora on Draco's, a decision reached by the flip of a coin. Luna had gotten special permission from Kingsley to perform the ceremony. Harry was a little nervous about this, but Draco insisted everything would be fine.

The day of the wedding dawned crisp, cool and sunny, the perfect fall day. They had spent the night at Malfoy Manor, ironing out any kinks with the reception and squeezing in last minute time with Mr. Malfoy, who was still cool around Harry and very awkward about the whole thing. Hermione whisked Harry away as soon as he woke up and Draco took care of himself, though Neville was assigned to keep him company. It was kind of reassuring, to be somewhere other than where wedding was taking place. Harry didn't hear the arrival of all their friends and family and family of friends and a few professors and their families, or the string quartet warming up, or the sounds of the chefs setting up and _holy Merlin where would they be_? The kitchen at the Burrow was hardly enough to hold three professional chefs cooking for two hundred. Harry started to go into conniptions over this and insisted on apparating over to the Burrow to check on things, but Hermione held him firmly in place and kept repeating that everything was being taken care of.

Harry fidgeted endlessly as he dressed, as Hermione put on the finishing touches, especially when Mrs. Malfoy showed up with a small handful of accessories. Blue socks. Cufflinks that had been in their family for at least a century. A new rose, plucked from their garden, tucked into his breast pocket. Everything she gave him was borrowed. He felt ridiculous, but she insisted it was tradition and Draco was getting the same treatment.

Before he knew it he was apparating to the Burrow. He was confined to Ron's room, lest he see Draco before the wedding. He could hear everything now, and his heart refused to beat regularly. Why couldn't they just go to the Ministry and get their papers signed? Why had he agreed to such a big ceremony been? Then he remembered that _he_ was the one who had wanted it; Draco had said he would have been fine with just his family and their friends at the Ministry. Harry cursed himself.

Ginny took Hermione's place as his guard while Hermione saw to last minute details. Harry was twisting his engagement ring over and over again, pacing the tiny room, and then it suddenly occurred to him who he was with, and that this might be awkward. He stood still, facing Ginny.

"Is this okay with you?" Harry asked. "Me and Draco getting married? I'm not, I dunno, breaking your heart?"

Ginny laughed. "If you were going to do that, Harry, it would have been ages ago. I'm very happy for you, and I wish you nothing but the best. I'm here with Dean, you know. He's my plus one, or would be, if he hadn't also been invited."

"Right," Harry said. "Sorry. Stupid question."

He resumed pacing. He was nineteen, and he was getting married. Every time that hit him his stomach twisted. Then he imagined Draco's smiling face, and he relaxed. This was fine. It was good. It was right.

The number of people downstairs, however, was not nearly as okay. He started listing them in his head and lost track halfway through Dumbledore's Army. Not for the first time he felt a little guilty that they were mostly his friends, but Draco had shrugged it off, saying he'd rather be surrounded by Weasleys than Parkinsons.

"Ginny, where're the cooks?" Harry asked, again jerking to a halt.

She smiled at him. "At Malfoy Manor, getting ready for the reception. Nobody eats during the actual ceremony."

Harry's shoulders fell. Right. That was obvious. He knew that. He resumed pacing.

And then, quite suddenly, Mrs. Weasley relieved Ginny, and a few minutes later they were walking downstairs and gathering by the back door. Amelia's daughters were flower girls, wearing matching pale blue dresses, hair tied back with bows. They looked very cute. They'd also be the ones walking behind Harry, the ones he would disturb if he tripped or forgot how to walk or something. The door was propped open and Harry could hear quiet conversation and, Merlin, this was actually happening.

Everything else faded away. _This was happening_. Harry couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be, anything he'd rather do than marry the man at the other end of the white carpet. He was so absorbed in thinking about how lucky he was that he missed his cue entirely. Mrs. Weasley grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door, Winnie and Eirinn following close behind. Harry kept his eyes straight ahead. He didn't want to look at the guests, didn't want to think about how everyone was staring at him, wanted only to see Draco, who was still blocked by all the faces turning to watch him. He could see Luna directly before him, wearing a wispy lavender dress, but that was it. No Draco, no Ron, Hermione, Neville or Aurora.

And then, as he drew closer, he saw Draco. His feet tangled, and if it weren't for Mrs. Weasley's hold on his arm, he would have fallen. There weren't words for how Draco looked, they hadn't been invented. He was wearing all white and it set off his skin and his hair and it almost looked like he was sparkling before Harry realized that indeed he was. His cloak reflected in the bright sunlight, radiating tiny flecks of light. Draco was so relaxed, so at peace, Harry couldn't help relaxing himself. The rest of his walk was lost in Draco's eyes, and he tripped again over the low platform. Mrs. Weasley pushed him up as Hermione grabbed his arm, and there was some laughter from the crowd, but he didn't care. He was marrying Draco. Actually _marrying_ him.

Luna recited Draco's favorite sonnet, the first he had ever read to Harry, the one Harry had gifted him. She gave a beautiful and slightly strange speech about love and a creature called a Vorintle Puncavian. Harry and Draco held hands, Draco's eyes fixed on Harry's, which really didn't help Harry understand what Luna was saying at all. Draco's hands were cool, as they always were, and soft, and his fingers long and graceful, and his eyes were the color of ash from a magical fire or rainclouds or the stones of Hogwarts and yes, Harry knew all of this, but it felt like he was learning everything for the first time.

Ron and Neville stepped forward, and Harry realized that this was it, right now, this moment.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, do you agree to hold and to cherish, to take on adventures, to fall and get back up again, to fight and forgive and to fly to the moon and back with this man?" Luna asked.

"I do," Draco said, slipping the ring onto Harry's finger. Harry had never heard more beautiful words in his life.

"Harry James Potter, do you agree to love and lie with, to fight with and for, to be here for, to be fearless with and to fly to the moon and back with this man?"

"I do," Harry said. His hands were trembling so much he nearly dropped the ring Ron handed him, but he managed to get it on Draco's finger.

"Then, by the rather sudden and short power given to me by the Minister of Magic, I declare you bonded for life."

The crowd burst into cheers Harry didn't hear as he kissed Draco, as he kissed his husband. His lips were so soft and tasted of vanilla, and when Draco's hands moved to his lower back, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's neck and they stood and kissed for what seemed like ages.

They broke apart when Hermione nudged them, clearing her throat and holding out a bouquet. Neither Harry nor Draco had consented to carrying it but Draco insisted on the traditional throwing of the flowers, and had made Hermione hold it for them. Harry and Draco took it together and tossed it into the crowd, where it was caught by Ginny, who blushed a typical Weasley red. Harry kissed Draco again, not ready to let go, and he didn't even notice as Draco apparated them to Malfoy Manor until he opened his eyes.

The guests were, quite literally, appearing before their eyes, and they went to stand by the cake, waiting until everyone arrived before cutting the first slice. Draco fed it to Harry, even though they had agreed not to do that, not after the marshmallow incident at Christmas, so Harry ran his finger through the icing at the base of the cake and smeared it on Draco's nose. Mrs. Malfoy, who had seen this before, quickly dissolved the situation by pushing the boys away and cutting the cake properly. It suddenly struck Harry that they had done this backwards—it was supposed to be dinner first and then cake—but he didn't particularly care, and neither did anyone else.

While everyone was busy with the cake, Mr. Malfoy slipped over to Harry. They stood facing each other for a moment before an extremely surprised Harry was pulled into a hug.

"I don't understand," Mr. Malfoy said, breaking away. "But you make my son very happy, and for that you will always be a part of our family."

"Thank you," Harry said, genuinely touched.

Then the moment was ruined by George appearing, wrapping an arm around each of them, and grinning. "Father and son bonding moment, eh?"

Mr. Malfoy flinched and pulled away, and Harry elbowed George in the ribs. He hadn't talked to Draco's parents about how he was to address them, but he was quite confident it wasn't going to be mum and dad.

Draco walked over holding two plates of cake and handed one to Harry. "What did Father say?" he asked, taking his first bite. Before Harry could answer he let out a small moan. "Bloody hell this cake is good."

"He was welcoming me into the family," Harry said. "It was sweet."

Draco smiled. "I told you he's not all bad."

They made it through dinner before apparating away, not bothering to stay for the dancing or conversation, not when they could be having sex on a private island in the South Pacific. Harry found that married sex was the best sort of sex, even if beach sex resulted in sand in all sorts of unwanted places. Shower sex fixed that, and bed-in-their-private-beach-house sex had all the benefits of beach sex without the hassle of sand.

It was very late when they ate the meal Daisy had prepared for them. Draco had insisted on a house elf for their honeymoon, and Harry had insisted on Daisy. Afterward they sat on a swinging chair on the front porch, cuddling and holding hands, looking out at the ocean. Either fairies were native to the island or the travel agency had imported them because the palm trees were sparkling with light.

"It's never going to end, will it?" Draco asked quietly. "Us, I mean. We're never ending."

"Always," Harry said, squeezing his hand. "At least until Monday when I've got to go back to training."

Draco smacked him. "Shut up, Potter."

**The End.**


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